When Lightning Strikes Twice
by Sinister-Slytherin
Summary: War is coming. Evil corrupts and grows. The fate of the world may yet rest on one, both blessed and cursed, entangled in a web woven by fate and death. One who shall walk the edge of dark and light and take control of his own destiny, less he drown in the machinations of those who seek to control him and tie him to their cause. When lightning strikes, it does so with a vengeance.
1. Long Summary and Info

-KNOWLEDGE IS USEFUL-

-SUMMARY AND INFO-

As the years go by the world has slowly fallen into chaos, wars than span continents, a segregation of nations with opposing ideals and economies, the decline of the planet itself. And those few who can see the dark future mankind is headed for have long been silenced and controlled. Dark forces awaken, evil keeps and corrupts and grows. War is coming; one which may will spell the end of mankind and all other life on Earth. The future is uncertain, but for those who can see, it tells a dark and grim tale. The fate of the world may yet rest on one, both blessed and cursed, entangled in a web woven by fate and death. One who shall walk the edge of dark and light and take control of his own destiny, less he drown in the machinations of those who seek to control him and tie him to their cause. But if anyone can do it surely Hadrian James Fenris Potter is the one to do so.

Starts of pure HP, mostly canon, and begins to deviate from cannon, with mix of references to other fantasy works (LOTR, HP. Love Craft). Eventually ties into the MCU with expanded ad-ons from the comics and TV shows to flesh out the MCU.

Genres: Fantasy/ Action/ Supernatural/SciFi/ Drama

You all know the usual stories, evil manipulative Dumbledore, friend's betrayal, Harry unlocks a special magical inheritance and becomes lord of Hogwarts or death or the four Hogwarts founders or Merlin or some special magical powers from his ancestors or some such or he is granted knowledge from his future self, travels back in time to guide his past self, unlocks the power or information of the Horcrux in his scar, etc-etc…. Well hopefully this story will not sound so much like that, but have a newer perspective. Yes he will still receive powers and be a bit op, but he not only does he have to come into that power and experience, training and many failures including, but will also be plagued with a few disabilities and enemies more powerful or smarter than he.

I want to show how awesome magic could be in a world it existed in if it was properly used, not delegate it to that point and fire shit seen in the later movies, where it was like paintball with glow effects. Nor stick with these basic repertoire of shit Latin spells, because really- what possible use is there for a transfiguration spell to turn a match into a freaking needle?

And While JK and many authors skip over the possible connotations of the true nature of the Potter-verse suggested in the books, this story tries to go over the darkest possible insinuation and major failings of the History and characters of Harry Potter and even deeper into the existence of magic and why there is a pattern to the rise and fall of dark lords and how magic works in the HP world, taken from weeks of research into Potter Lore. The true and horrible background of Albus Dumbledore, and the dark depths that most of the wizarding world has sunk to will be exposed.

Although I admit it is one of the staples of HP fanfic, and nothing completely new, and although there are some stories out there that are between 500,000 to a million words that have explored the darker backgrounds and plot holes left by JK Rowling, I will endeavor to do the same while providing a new take on the story.

Also I will try to keep the chapters at an average of around 5,000-10,000 word count, because frankly I hate stories that have over thirty chapters but each one is only like 500 words long.

FINALLY I WILL ONLY POST THIS ONCE BECAUSE I DON'T SEE THE POINT IN DOING SO EVERY CHAPTER AND IT WILL BE OFFICIAL AND IRREVOCABLE:

THIS IS A WORK OF FAN FICTION, IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR PROFIT, ONLY FOR THE READERS PLEASURE, ANY ORIGINAL CHARTERS AND REFERENCES ARE PROPERTY OF J.K.R, MARVEL or whoever they belong to or anyone not me, I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER or any other merchandised or copyrighted materials or character. This is a work of fan fiction with the intent of free entertainment that means it is a 'parody' created for NO PROFIT!

Also a few of the early chapters may feature work cited or directly copied from the original books and edited or expanded upon in an effort to delve deeper into the canon story as based on the events taken from the point of views of the characters in the original story. In no way am I using J.K.R's work or writing and passing it off as my own in any form of plagiarism, because I have no intent to profit of her work, however these sections of the original story/ books are connoted for more in depth fan exploration of behind the scenes events and pure conjecture and what if. So some of it may be copied word for word, because frankly on the surface the story itself is what could be seen as having been brought together by the various points of view from the HP characters.

If you have a problem with anything I right please PM me so we can discuss it like civilized adults and see if we can resolve any issues or ideas or suggestions you may have I am not infallible after all and can make mistakes. That means I tend to ignore flamers unless I find their comments of outrage to be humorous- to me at least, in which case I will post them in in the next chapter for other to see the petulance and immaturity of some fanfic readers.

Finally as I am currently both working and taking classes, any free time I have may be spent in various other pastimes, one of which includes reading and sometimes writing fanfics, so don't expect fast or periodic updates like some authors.

Thank You, and I hope You enjoy!


	2. The Beginning

-THE BEGINNING-

-PROLOUGUE-

-June 18th 1980, early morning-

A shadow flitted above the roads, its source a grey pinprick in the sky unseen and unnoticed by anyone below. The shadow was cast by a tawny-grew long eared owl as it made its way north over the Scottish countryside, occasionally flying over farmland, small towns, a few train tracks, and winding roads. Had anyone below been keen enough and so happened to be looking up and catch sight of said owl they would possibly be confused about why a nocturnal predator was flaying so early in the morning. They would find it odder still that the bird was seemingly caring a rolled up newspaper in its talons. By complete happenstance- or perhaps not, no one caught sight of the owl that morning, just like every other morning it was sent out to deliver its cargo.

The bird continued to flap it wings and would occasionally meet with its brethren, the further north it flew the more owls seemingly from every species known in the UK came and went at various speeds, all heading in a similar direction, each carrying some form of mail, letters, packages, or newspapers. It was somewhere in northern Scotland where the not so random flock converged flying over mountain, hill, plain, and forest. The small town of Cannich and then Lock Mullardoch passed below, empty Scottish highland stretching further ahead where at the crest of a mountain it would be easy enough to notice the stone archway facing perfectly north, its masonry of a distinct Celtic and druidic design, vines chiseled in relief wrapping around its two columns. Above the archway owls flew in groups periodically all morning fading out of sight as if passing over an invisible barrier.

Oddly enough this archway was only visible to mortal eyes if they fulfilled a certain set of requirements, a number of which the general population of the UK, and the world did not meet and therefore could be standing directly in front of the arch and see only the empty hilltops and mountains in front of them with no need to go forward before quickly losing interest and leaving. What any normal person would see from any other direction from the top of the mountain would be barren Scottish landscape an all sides, but through the archway the view was distinctly different, for through it a dirt path continued down the opposing side of the mountain and wound into a deep temperate forest with trees of abnormally large size.

This large swath of land and mountains and valleys covered in forest and a few hidden lakes had at is heart a deep loch, large castle, and quint village. The fact that the castle appeared to be in ruins, and the small medieval town near it in even worse shape was only ever through extremely coincidental and accidental events that had occurred in the last few decades to a select few people that also happened to be what witches and wizards of the UK referred to as muggles. The entire area on hidden land was not drawn on any map, nor plotted by any man, even to satellite imaging and detection it was invisible, for were any to look upon the images or data they too would see only blank land.

Because of this it could be said that the castle in its entirety was located somewhere in Northern Scotland. Where exactly that was had been long ago forgotten, but on this morning the summer sun rose over the horizon shining its golden light into a valley flanked by two large mountains and an expansive old growth forest with trees as large as redwoods. The light illuminated the glass like surface of a large and deep loch as it met the cliff-side and rose along the walls of a magnificent stone castle that would have been described by any muggle historian to be of a mixed German and French design dating back to the thirteenth century.

The bustling and picturesque town of wood and stone by the name of Hogsmeade resided in sight of the castles parapets and towers, and along its direct center stretched the town's High Street which branched off and ran up and around the Black Lake, on one side leading to a period train station with architecture from the early 1800's and on the other the wide dirt road passed through a large iron gate that was near four and a half meters tall with two winged boars mounted on a stone wall on either side. The path continued to a wide stone bridge and across a rectangular courtyard into the magnificent entrance hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The castle in its entirety seemed like it could have been built only ten years previously, for although some slight water staining and vine growth could be seen, overall the castle seemed to be quite new. In one of the higher towers of Hogwarts where only a single window could be seen resided one of the greatest and most renowned wizards in British magical history.

Dumbledore sat calmly in his plush and ornate high back leather armchair as he leaned forward and pressed his hands together in a meditative pose while slowly savoring the tangy bittersweet flavor of his favorite lemon flavored candy. He took this moment to relax and reminisce about the simpler times of his early youth as the entire week had been very busy for him interviewing candidates for the open positions of Divination, Defense Against The Dark Arts, Arithmancy, and Astronomy. He was also the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, and was left with the task of recruitment, communications between him and Order members in the DMLE, and organizing Order movements and teams while directing war efforts and resources against his wayward student Tom Riddle. Another role that took up a great amount of his time was that of the current Acting Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards.

It was a good thing that the ICW, which could be seen as the wizarding version of the Muggle United Nations was mostly made up of only European nations and functioned independently as a branch of the United Magical Nations. It was hard enough to sway favor and opinion with just the congregation made up of wizards and witches representing the various European nations. Which is why Dumbledore considered himself lucky with not having to deal with the egos and policies of all the other magical governments of the UMI, which was an assembly of all wizarding governments that oversaw international trade regulations, laws, and peace treaties for the entire world.

Dumbledore was left to deal with the annual general assembly of the ICW, as Acting Supreme Mugwump he had oversight on the topics covered, the directions of the meetings themselves, and acted as the main delegator when the representatives of the many European nations got overexcited. For the last month he had succeeded in downplaying the civil war taking place in Britain with his elegant soliloquys and assurances that Voldemort was a simple criminal striking out randomly at society and that he would soon be caught. After all there was not need to incite fear or worry in other nations and blow things out of proportion. Nor did he want interference or aid from countries that were willing to intervene on Britain's behalf to take down Voldemort and his Death Eaters if events got to out of hand, they would make the Ministry of Magic look weak, and in turn make British wizards look weak. He and by extension the British wizarding populace did not need outside forces to help them, he had personally defeated Grindelwald, the time would come soon enough when he would defeat Tom. Although it was still arduous balancing his station as headmaster, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump, who else but he could guide the people of Wizarding Britain in these dark times?

Thinking back on those meetings did tend to give him quite a headache, why must wizards be so stubborn? Nevertheless he had succeeded in his endeavor in making the problems of Tom and his Death Eaters seem small in comparison to other issues.

Now Dumbledore's mind turned back to present matters. His eyes twinkled as he peered over his half-moon spectacles and observed the shawl and bead draped witch seated in front of him. Albus knew that Divination was a touchy and almost useless subject to teach, the techniques used in the ethereal arts could be taught, but only those gifted with the sight of prophetic vision could properly use them. Devoting an entire class at Hogwarts to the subject when only one in every thousand wizards or witches might possibly possess some form of divining power would serve no other purpose other than to fill in the needed class slot that had previously belonged to Ancient Studies. It was not a decision he made lightly, but like many of the hard decisions in life, it had to be done.

For his entire time as Headmaster, and previously as both the transfiguration professor and Deputy Headmaster of Armando Dippet, Dumbledore had used his already considerable and ever growing political power and social standing, as well as his vast arcane knowledge to subtly exert his will on a network of people on the Hogwarts School Board, the DMLE, the Wizengamot, and especially on the students that passed through the halls of Hogwarts and then joined the Ministry workforce after graduating. He had a hand in shaping critical decisions affecting the wizarding world, and held the ear of some very important people, often being turned to for advice because of his wisdom and power. Apart from this; and the various favors he was owed, as well as how much he regretted to say it -blackmail material he had, he had been able to have various courses slowly withdrawn from the school curriculum. Even those that had been previously taught in the walls of the castle since it was first used as a school had dwindled from an array of subjects over twenty strong to the almost now standard 13 courses. A simple few accidents or one too many anonymous complaints to the board of governors and the more dangerous classes were slowly phased out.

He knew he may be sacrificing the education of the future generations, but having lived for so long and seen the horrors that both Grindelwald and Voldemort unleashed when they strove to unravel the deeper and darker mysteries of magic had shown him a valuable lesson about power and its corrupting influence. Only the most noble with the best intentions, and the mental capacity to never fall to darkness could walk that path, thankfully he had overcome his own darkness and risen to the position of "Leader of the Light". Now thanks to his efforts, students could achieve and strive for a proper standard magical education without fear of falling into darkness in a search for such power.

Dumbledore was brought out of his musings by the rustle of feathers from his familiar causing him to glance up at the previously nervous and disheveled applicant for the newly opened Divinations position at Hogwarts; who now sat confounded in her seat, the so called "Seer" by the name of Sybil Trelawney. The previous week he had sent her a summons inviting her to his office for the interview this morning for the position as the Divinations Instructor. After hearing her knock on the thick oak doors to his office and allowing her entrance after making her wait for just a bit, Dumbledore reviewed her credentials and asked for a few displays of her knowledge.

While clearly a smart witch familiar in her art Sybil demonstrated no true ability at divination, but more disappointedly covered for this fact by her poor acting skills, which even to him seemed over the top and very similar to the act muggle diviners and palm readers put on for their audiences at fairs and circuses. Sybil did not make that image any better by her overdone outfit of colored shawls, beaded necklaces, gaudy jewelry, or the strong wafts of various incenses that assaulted his nose when she entered his office after being escorted there by Professor McGonagall (whose pinched face and frown said much about her opinion of the so called seer, the subject in general, and the displeasure of the smell made all the worse by her slightly heightened sense of smell). To Dumbledore it appeared that she had forged many aspects of her credentials while riding on the coattails and prestige of her great-great-grandmother Cassandra Trelawney the celebrated seer. Not to say he was not expecting something like that.

He had gotten halfway through the standard interview questioner he was forced to give, when a break in the conversation had allowed one of the Hogwarts house elves to serve tea and a side of biscuits. It was during this short recces, while he debated whether to end the meeting early or not that Sybil had gone still and her eyes had rolled into her skull as a barely visible pallid greed aura seemed to radiate from her eyes. Trelawney had begun to spasm and convulse in her chair before becoming like stone and turning slowly to him she opened her mouth wide, her eyes glowing a pearly white. Without moving a deep and dry echoing voice sounded from within her mouth as if from a large cavern as it seemed to echo.

With a rattling breath she began to recite a stanza in a language he could not immediately place, although certain repetitions of sounds strung together reminded him of the early Greek tongue he could not fully decipher its meaning. There was a distinct pattern and length however as Trelawney continued to repeat the same lines over and over for a few minutes in a hollow rasp. Dumbledore took the time to carefully pay attention to every syllable and commit it to memory for later review, after all it was a nigh rare thing for a real- (and not just a prediction of the short term future) true prophecy to be heard, why the last one recorded had been in in 1831!

As soon as Trelawney had finished she had immediately slumped into her seat and passed out. While she slept Dumbledore retrieved and old and battered text from his shelf that contained a translation cypher for various old languages including what he believed to be snippets of Eteocretan or Minoan, both of which the muggles had far less information on as many of the sandstone tablets containing excerpts of the dead languages were in possession of wizard scholars. Using the codex he slowly interpreted the lines as best he could into clear English. It had taken him most of the afternoon to review the memory in his pensive and unravel the prophetic message into a translation, after even that though he only had a cursory understanding of the language, he had never taken the time to study it in any detail. Sybil was left asleep and seated as Dumbledore worked her head leaning on a plush pillow he had conjured so the self-proclaimed seeres would not wake up with a cramped sore neck. He sometimes asked for the opinion of his fiery red familiar only to receive a melodious chirp or a bob of the head to every question.

It took most of the day and so the sun was setting over the mountains outside his office window as the Headmaster wrote down the results on a clean sheet of parchment while he read it over and made some final corrections so that it was comprehensible in English and only a few minutes later he was finally done.

On the parchment in front of him now lay the translated prophecy:

 _"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."_

Reading it over Dumbledore began to analyze its meaning, _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches_ , well there was only one current dark lord that he knew of (more obviously so as Tom, unlike Gellert had a penchant for declaring himself the most powerful wizard and dark lord of all time in every one of their confrontations), and maybe a rival of the dark that could defeat and permanently kill Voldemort other than himself was to appear In the near future?

 _Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies_ , did that mean a child born in the end of July to parents that had faced Voldemort and lived three times? But what year, it must be close; it could not be a coincidence that he, Leader of The Light of all people had heard the prophecy and now of all times, now when the dark was getting ever closer, ever stronger under Voldemort's reign of terror. Who had defied The Dark Lord three times that he knew of? Dumbledore pondered for another minute about every encounter Tom had had in the open, and every direct or indirect loss he sustained before smiling; 'Yes, it had to be the Potters or Longbottoms, both couples had fought against Voldemort thrice on their own with no aid and lived to tell about it, and both were to have a male child, estimated to be born in a few months in July…'

 _And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not_. 'Did that mean Voldemort would seek to destroy the child of fate, but why, why would Tom personally seek out either family if he had no knowledge of the prophecy? Apart from the fact that he took every loss as a personal affront to his power and would seek to destroy anyone in his way why would he specifically seek out and mark the chosen one… was it possible the Dark Lord was meant to have knowledge of the prophecy, a clue? But how would Tom possibly get that information if only he knew about it. There was implication that his student would somehow acquire the knowledge to fulfill his role in the prophecy, therefore there would have to be a leek somehow, for how else would the Dark Lord plan for something he would never even suspect with the way he was winning his war on magical Britain? '

Dumbledore pondered for a moment before arriving at the simplest conclusion; it seemed he would have to pass on the information in the prophecy somehow, in a way so that it seemed both legitimate, and not coincidental. Tom was no fool, any hint that this was a part of some machination of Dumbledore's and he would never take the information as fact. After a few minutes of deep contemplation Dumbledore's brilliant mind had already devised a plan.

It was known to him that various previous Hogwarts students, most notably those from Slytherin- though a few came from other houses, had joined Voldemort's circle of followers and become one of his so called "Death Eaters." Thanks to his brother It was also known that a few passed through Hogsmeade as both recruiters and scouts for students as well as being sent to spy on him and pick up any information on his own activities. Dumbledore would need to set up a mock interview with Trelawney and have a Death Eater catch at least part of the prophecy, translated of course. The acting had to be superb, the timing perfect, the delivery exact. Tom had only ever taking a passing glance of interest in divination, but knew enough about the subject to know it was a real but dying art. Therefor the setup would have to be in such a way as to provide enough information to catch his attention and cause him to act on what might come to pass in an effort to control the outcome or possibly prevent it, but not enough to let him have the needed foreknowledge to prevent its ultimate outcome being his defeat. However this would also mean that he would have to hire the woman to keep her safe within the castle walls. Voldemort in turn would use the information he gathered and make his own choice.

The entire thing was mute if the child Tom picked did survive, the fore precautions must be put into place as soon as possible to bend the hand of fate. Tom would learn of the prophecy, use the information he had, act on it, and if Dumbledore predicted correctly personally oversee the matters of derailing the prophecy before it could be come to pass. The child, it mattered not who he picked for both Potter or Longbottom had old blood in their veins and a strong magical history made them both equally likely candies. In the end it would be up to Voldemort who he marked with his choice.

 _And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives._ Dumbledore read the last part and was puzzled over the wording and its meaning for quite a while. Trelawney began to stir before he lazily stunned her out of reflex for the third time that day putting her out again while he reviews his notes once more. 'Hmm, one had to kill the other, or allow for his defeat, directly or indirectly as _{must die at the hand of the other}_ could be taken both literally or figuratively. On the surface it seemed that the phrase made sense, but upon further thinking it became clear as being self-contradictory. If neither the chosen one nor Voldemort lives, then by logical deduction, the second phrase _{_ w _hile the other survives}_ is certainly false. Similarly, if either the chosen one or Tom survives, than it follows that the first phrase _{neither can live}_ is logically false. While even one of them lived the prophecy would still be in effect, meaning that in the end one must die at the other's hands, ensuring the prophecy is fulfilled and allowing him to move on with his plans. But what was the true definition of neither can live while the other survives?

Did the word count metaphorically or literally… and what about the part about either must die and the hand of the other; must, not will… could that be used as an obligation, or a circumstantial motive, or was it a definitive answer and or an essential requirement. Did it mean that only they could die by the others direct actions, or did it mean they could not die unless they killed each other, a loop of immortality that neither would want to escape into death?

He had to influence the outcome of this to be the most favorable one present; as much as he hated to think it the good of the many must outweigh the good of the few. What was the life of one child compared to all the lives in the UK, he was a general, this was a war, and if a few lives had to be sacrificed to set up Voldemort's ultimate demise so be it. Either way he would see to it that nothing was spared to chance; all resources available would be used to end this thrice damned war before it could spill over to the muggle side. If the Potters or Longbottoms perished by Voldemort's he would honor their sacrifice and use their assets to fund the Light's own operations and their political capital to set his place in the Ministry as needed. The Potter or Longbottom child would be a candidate for the prophecy, either one would work, but it was Voldemort's choice that would be the deciding factor, whoever he tried to kill by his own hand would need to be marked as his equal. No matter how much it pained him to do so If he had to sacrifice a pureblood family like the Potters or Longbottoms to allow for the assured defeat of Voldemort to eventually occur then it needed to be made.

If as Dumbledore suspected Voldemort tried to kill the child with the killing curse as was his modus operandi he would have to plan to set failsafe's in place for an event that had a high probability of occurring, after all magic worked in mysterious ways, and the use of such a spell* might have unexpected outcomes due to the prophecy itself. The final question left to answer was which child was most likely to be attacked. At first thought it was the magically strong and historically pureblood line, the Longbottoms, but then again Voldemort had always feared what he could not control and disliked, he was a half-blood, so by order of logic based on facts few if any were privy to he would secretly think the Potter child to be the most danger, maybe seeing a part of himself in the child.

It was likely though that as a contingency he might send his death eaters to kill the other family anyways, but he would take care of the Potter child personally. Either way he would need to set up failsafe's in case of either outcome, but Dumbledore would be willing to bet a bushels worth of lemon drops that his first guess was correct, after all, he was usually never wrong. With this in mind Dumbledore turned towards the two more present problems, how was Voldemort to attack the soon to be born Harry Potter and how would the "Prophecy" be overheard?

\- Mar 05th 1980, evening-

Dumbledore savored the sweet and tangy flavor of his preferred candy as he exited his room, a room only ever seen by the Headmasters of Hogwarts that was located through a hidden and warded passage behind the bookcase near his desk. He continued to suck on the lemon drop as the spiral staircase topped with the large bronze eagle statue descended down the cylindrical fore room and quietly walked out past the enchanted gargoyle guarding the main entrance to his office, his lavender high heeled boots with the toes styled after Persian slippers were near silent on the stone floor. The headmaster strolled through the empty corridors and hidden passageways of the ancient castle of Hogwarts. Seeing as it was summer break and the children were all at home; the halls were oddly muted and silent, a relaxing atmosphere to the usual noise of young witches and wizards bustling to class. The soft padding of his boots echoed down the halls while he made his way down to the main entrance of the school. As he pased the main gates toped wither their winged hogs Dumbledore reviewed the information his brother Aberforth had sent him about the slight increase in activity by black-hooded individuals in his tavern leading up to tonight, it was obvious someone had taken the bait then.

Tonight he would seemingly be interviewing Sybil Trelawney for the first time. After he had obliviated her and sent her on her way with a few subliminal thoughts planted in her subconscious through the expert use of confundus and Legilimency so that she would return for her meeting with the him Dumbledore had then subtly nudged Hagrid to leak the information of his personal and rare out of office interview out in one of his drunken babbling sessions that he was prone to at the Hog's Head Inn. It was a rare occasion that Dumbledore visited Hogsmeade, and rarer still he would privately interview someone outside the castle, the fact he was doing so now would draw the interest of shady characters. Now that the bait was set he would spring the trap and begin the events that would lead to the fall of Voldemort. He would lead the light to triumph over the growing darkness, and his legacy would ensure the Greater Good lived on even after his death.

It took him another half hour to reach the small quaint town of Hogsmeade, just in time to watch the sun begin to set over the horizon and the stars to begin twinkling in the night sky. Dumbledore silently cast a disillusionment charm over his body so as to not gather any attention from any of the village's residents, and soon enough he arrived at his destination, the grimy and dark looking Hog's Head Inn. Albus casually walked up the door and waited for the disguised Order member that was to give him entrance. As the Order member, wrapped in a cloak and shawl to appear unrecognizable departed and let the door swing wide he entered silently through the open doorway and up to the bar where he gently knocked on the bar surface three times barley loud enough for his brother to take notice. Aberforth glanced in his direction and nodded once, signaling that Sybil Trelawney had already arrived and that one of Voldemort's spies was already in the bar. A subtle twitch of his eye indicated said individual slouching in the corner pretending to have a pint.

As soon as Dumbledore made his way into the back room he canceled the disillusionment and paused just long enough for the cloaked and hooded individual who was paying the hallway an inordinate amount of attention to notice. Dumbledore made his way up the stairs to the second room, which was a small parlor and pushed the door open to reveal the shawled witch sitting in one of the high backed wooden chairs. He stepped into the room and gently closed the door while simultaneously casting locking charms and detection wards before suppressing his magical aura and signature through pure skill and then turning to fully face the seer.

"Ahh, good evening, Mis Trelawney, I see that you were able to arrive safely." Dumbledore smiled affably as he sat opposite the witch.

"Well yes, Headmaster, one cannot be too cautious in these troubled times, but my inner eye predicted that I would of course arrive without harm." She replied, the twinkle in the headmasters eyes going unnoticed.

"Yes well now, I'm was very busy today and do apologize for the late meeting time and local, however without meaning to offend my dear I do have a few other duties to attend to tonight so shall we get started?" Dumbledore replied. Unknown to the black cloaked figure in the hall using an eavesdropping charm both the Dumbledore brothers knew exactly what he was doing, and by the end of the night after having been kicked out of the Hog's Head when he was caught snooping he had fled to his master to give him the information he had overheard.

It was too bad for him it would be the single worst decision of his life.


	3. Something Wicked This Way Comes

-SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES-

-Sep 18th 1981, late night-

Mist pooled along the ground, drifting along slowly in wafts as it blanketed and obscured the lights from the cottage hoses of the small town in the distance. The grass was dewy in the cemetery of Godric's Hollow, the silence ominous and muffled in the unusually warm September evening. The curling mist and dark of night obscured the pale beams of moonlight that shown from behind thick clouds while the gravestones and gothic crosses stood muted in the dark.

The serene if ominous night was disturbed only by the faint glow from small spheres of blue fire that hovered in a ring in place above the ground, gently bobbing like ghost fire will-o-wisp. Reminiscent of a circle of flaming beads they produced no heat and revealed an old vine infested and weather worn mausoleum that had its large stone doors propped open like two resolute guards watching, waiting, for anyone to enter into the crypt.

Vines of thick ivy snaked over the stone walls in an attempt to strangle out the presence of man and return it to nature; worn to almost illegibility the Peverell Crest and Coat of Arms was carved into the front edifice of the tomb. A stone relic almost forgotten as it sat not in the graveyard itself, but rather a few miles away through an almost invisible trail through forest and underbrush and a few loose stone and dirt outcroppings infested with stranglers and tree roots so heavily overgrown it was clear no one had set foot on it in over a hundred years. The Old Peverell manor itself had long since been abandoned and forgotten, eroded and left in ruins so only a few crumbled bricks of the foundation remained and now only the stone mausoleum- a relic out of time was left to guard the final resting place for the ancestors of the Potter line.

However tonight was a night where not even the most annoyingly persistent of individuals (such as a certain duo of black haired Marauders) would have had a chance at finding the long abandoned site due to the palpably visible ward surrounding both the ruined property and tomb. In fact the strength of the ward currently overlaying the tomb itself was so think that is visibly wavered in the air like a phantom haze of rising heat. This ward was based on the various spells used by the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, specifically the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad and their Obliviator unit. It had been modified for a single use of 24 hours, and worked to deter any living thing from taking notice of anything going on behind the ward lines from any angle. Its creator had taken to calling it the null exclusion field because of how thoroughly it made the rest of the universe ignore that it existed. *(A thought had occurred that the only thing keeping anything behind the ward from fading completely out of existence was that its effects did not work on the castor, therefore it was acknowledged in some way as being real. Based on certain ideas of the observance effect on magic it was entirely possible the ward could be used to erase something out of existence, which in in itself was a scary enough notion that its creator had decided to never try so and through; warned any of such an outcome in her notes.)

Past the transparent curling wisps and wavering haze of the wards, if one were to go through the mausoleum entrance and follow the flickering light of more blue flame spheres that trailed down passage like markers lighting as trial you would soon come across stone steps that descended into the bowls of the earth. The descent would have been halted by a heavily decorated iron portcullis engraved with vines and an odd repeating pattern if its pointed iron bars had not been bent back far enough into the stone walls as if pushed aside by a giant hand. Continuing down the dusty, web infested passage led into a rounded antechamber; its back wall in a half moon curve with three shallow alcoves in the upper half of the high wall like those used in cathedrals to house the figures of saint or other holy images. In this case each alcove contained a cracked and faded stone statue of a different man.

The first; the young warrior mage, who was clad in mail armor of regal design and held a wand of detailed design in one hand and a sword in the other as he attacked an unseen foe, ignorant of the shadowy hand with a raised dagger swinging down behind his back in betrayal. The cracked and faded mural behind him depicted the scene of a long forgotten battle. The second statue; the aged necromancer, was draped in extensive and voluminously flowing fine robes, his mural in turn portrayed a stormy grave as undead hands burst forth from the earth. He carried a large black crystal in his open palm while he prepared to hang himself from a noose with the other as a hoard of skeletal hands reached for his legs from the base of the alcove in which he stood. The third; the old assassin, was cloaked in an weathered and torn shroud underneath which he wore belts with various daggers attached along with a dagger in each hand, his face shadowed by a hood as he stood proudly in his old age while slipping a cloak off of his shoulders. The grim reaper with its skeletal hand draped over his visible shoulder like an old friend greeting another as they both were seemingly pulled into the mural that showed a crumbling and cracked stone arch.

Underneath the alcoves was a wide decorated archway with two wrought iron stands to the sides, wax frozen dripping down from the many large candles that had once burned atop of them. The archway led down a short hall and into a regal spiral staircase that twisted down past three stories into the bedrock before it led into a vaulted tunnel of old stonework, rough with age and decay. The tunnel twisted and turned past various dead ends, for hundreds of feet it stretched. Slowly the brick stonework faded and melded in with the dark pocket-marked bedrock of the tunnel wall. Moss and ivy grew on the walls and floor, creeper vines and ferns began to appear before the winding tunnel ended and opened up to a large circular cavern.

The cavern was hollowed out into a rough oval shape with a few large depressions and crevices leading off and extending into the unknown. Huge meter wide columns of limestone stretching from floor to ceiling riddled the outer edges of the cave and melded together with various stalactites and stalagmites. A large and deep pond of dark blue water pooled at the center of the cave and at its middle a small island of black sand and pebbles rose up right underneath the water. On top sat a wide moss covered obsidian stone of a most peculiar shape, cut and rounded into the shape of sharp edged bowl, aged and chipped by time and elements. Dull blue light illuminated the fact that a very attractive redheaded woman stood at the shore of the underground lake in a thin green silk robe that reveled her nakedness underneath. The flickering glow from the floating bluebell flames that slowly circled the room like phantasmal lights revealed that a green eyed unruly black haired baby wrapped in a blanket rested in her arms as it whined at the unfamiliar setting.

"Shhhhh, Momma's here, don't cry Harry, don't cry, shhhh." Lily crooned to her nine moth old son as she gently rocked him in her arms.

She stepped off shore and walked barefoot to the center of the cathedral like space, seemingly ignoring all natural laws as she calmly strode over the still water, small ripples spreading out from her bare feet as they touched the surface. Unknown to any other living person save her, the gigantic cavern rested directly below the decrepit remains of the Peverell ancestral home. The wild plant growth and occasional mote of fairy light that accompanied the bluebell flames was due to the fact that the stone resting on the island at the center of the pool was placed precisely over a major ley-line. The stone itself was the key warding stone and was hundreds of year's old. Because of this it radiated ambient natural energy that infused the crystal clear waters and walls, allowing plant life to grow seemingly without sunlight. Unfortunately the ward stone had not been active for well the same amount of time; that is until tonight.

Lily noticed little of this as she placed the now unwrapped and nude baby Harry onto the bed of mossy growth in the depression of the ward stone. Reaching out with her left hand she employed one of the many skills which she hid from everyone including her husband; silently summoned her wand while gently stroking her son's forehead as he began to coo at her ministrations. Steeping back from the stone she summoned the tome containing the diagrams she would need and began chanting a slow and deep lullaby, flowing between Fuhark and Norse tongue as she circled her son seven times, periodically glancing at the hovering tome to make sure she made no errors. Lily's dress gently blew in an unfelt wind as liquid flames poured out of her wand with each turn, slowly wavering and shifting into a complex seal that flowed over the still waters until it met the edges of dry sand all around. She came back to the center of the pool unharmed, the fire parting around her feet and illuminating the cavern in a dull orange flickering light that cast deep shadows over every crevice and fault in the surrounding stone.

Lily then conjured a plain silver dagger, pricking her index finger she let seven drops fall on her child's forehead, seven on his lips so it dribbled into his mouth, and seven into the water. As the last drop fell the flames shivered and took on a more pallid vermilion hue.

This ritual that she was soon to perform was something never before seen by wizard kind, it was a work born from an idea, and years of meticulous study and research in arcane arts, forgotten tomes and secreted notes. A seven seal ritual created from the ashes of the ceremonial Rights of Godhood Ascension accord that ancient Egyptian magic users created to appoint their Pharaoh as ruler and god of their people, a unification of old Norse spells, Assyrian and Sumerian rituals, Celtic and Germanic sigils, and a sacrifice of blood that served as an invocation to various deities.

The flames formed seven circles and seven seals; each connected through a waving line of fractal Celtic knots. Seven symbols stood out as important from their obvious size inside the seven seals, each simplified in its design and yet created with intent and purpose with the blood from the mother that once more stood over her child.

The first was a burning ring with a circle at its center, the alchemical symbol of gold, the sun, Ra, and the all Seeing Eye. It was meant to give sight beyond sight, the ability to discern truth from lie, see the unseen and reality for what it was.

The second was a fiery three Magatama tomoe with a spiral starting in the bell and ending in at the tip in a perfect golden ratio; a symbolic simplification and representation of the Norse Triskelion, and it symbolized the unity between spirit, mind, and body- creation, destruction, and preservation- power, intellect, and love- the sun, the moon, and the earth.

The third symbol was the scorched outline of an upraised hand with an eye at the center of the palm, the Hand of Fatima. It was a symbol rooted in Jewish symbolism from the Babylonian era, and it was a symbol of protection against evil power.

The fourth symbol was a flaming Ouroboros, a snake eating its own tail, but instead of the traditional circle, it was curled into the symbol of infinity. It was a symbol of renewal, life and death. It was also Degaz, the Norse rune for awakening, enlightened, and awareness. The symbol itself was made up of four Kenaz runes, or knowledge, intellect, and illumination, all combined into a simple infinity sign.

The fifth glowing sign was a stylized lightning bolt, it reflected both an Assyrian/Sumerian and Norse rune. It represented justice, power, energy, speed, lightning, attack, siege, and a strike from the heavens.

The sixth symbol was that of a burning Monas Hieroglphica, the symbol of Azeroth, Saturn, and the Philosopher's stone. It was a composite from other alchemical and astrological signs, including that of Aries, fire, the sun and moon, and a cross representing nature and the four elements.

The seventh and final symbol, the one that sealed the rest was that of the sign of Libra, the scales, and not so coincidentally the seventh astrological sign as well. It represented judgment, balance, and sky.

As these seven glowing symbols settled and dimmed back into the seal of fire in a large circle around the center of the pool Lily bent over her son and gently kissed his forehead with all the love she could muster as she thought back to her entire life and the events that had led her and Harry here beneath the decrepit home of her husband's forgotten ancestors.

(Flashback)

Lily and the rest of the Evans family had been living in the town Spinner's End; which was located between Manchester and Liverpool, since before she was born. Her father, Craig Evans was a Steel Mill worker, and her mother Rose Evans had been a librarian until the birth of her elder sister of one year, Petunia.

Spinner's End was a small town, named after the small textile factory that was replaced by the steel mill around 1948. The mill itself was located on the river and was powered by a coal and steam furnace. It had one towering lone chimney stack on the side, and because of this a grey smoky sky always seemed to hang over the town. The river itself was rather dirty; waste from the mill was dumped in it, as it wound around one side of the town past the row of two story terraced homes that were near the steep and muddy banks. A rusting rail divided the bank from the cobbled street, which ran alongside the houses that were built primarily for the steel mill workers. Small alleys separated each home, most strewn with some rubbish and mud.

On the other side of the small town, about ten minutes' walk away from the river, was where Lily and her family lived. Here the houses were somewhat larger and separated by small garden yards. The very back row led to a large copse of trees, mainly of Crab Apple, Ash, Birches, Beeches and Elm. Her home was located near this copse, with only a small field separating her home from the line of trees. It was in this home that she lived until her eighteenth birthday.

Her father Craig Evans was a large man, not the kind of large that made one fat, but rather large in a way that the muscles under the fat could still be clearly seen. Craig had a body like that of a tank, built up over the years from working in the mill as he carried heavy crates and operated the smelting furnaces. Because of this his large meaty arms were scarred up to the elbow, slightly darker than the rest of his skin, and his face appeared to have a permanent red tan from the heat of the molten steel. He had a short cropped beard of dull black hair, and a growing bald patch on his head. And although Craig's appearance gave of the feeling of a snorting bull he was a very objective and caring man, not standing for useless tomfoolery, or unkindness of any sort. He was well liked in the mill, being one of the hardest workers and the friendliest, and had quickly risen to the position of assistant foreman. After work he and various other coworkers would often times spend part of the evening at the pub before he went home to spend time with his wife and two adorable daughters.

In contrast to her towing husband, Lily's mother Rose Evans was a small waif and petite thing of a woman, but beautiful nonetheless. Rose had deep and richly dark burgundy colored hair which shined red in certain light- hence her name, which she usually carried in a bun. She was a very kind and loving wife and mother, always set to do the right thing, help the needy, and support her family in everything they did. She was a librarian before her first daughter was born, and before that she taught science and mathematics in secondary and sixth form schools, thus her very ordered and knowledgeable mind. Both Lily and Petunia grew up learning many things about the world, their mother teaching them science and mathematics, how to think logically and be critical of information, to seek the truth and not take others word for it, as their father toiled away at the mill before coming home. The entire Evans family was Anglo Christian, and attended the sermons given in the only church in town religiously every Sunday.

So it was that the Evans family had been living a rather ordinary life for a family in the UK during the mid-1900's and raising two growing daughters when at the age of five something completely extraordinary happened to Lily. Something that blew the metaphorical minds of Rose and Craig Evans. It had been another rainy day in Spinner's End, and being stuck indoors once more Lily and Petunia had decided to play a game of hide and seek in the house to pass the time while their mother made supper. When that game ran its course and boredom set in they decided to play dollhouse instead. Unfortunately the wooden playset had been broken previously and now sat in the small attic workroom where her father kept the supplies he used to repair furniture and other items. Lily was keen on being able to play and dragged her sister up into the room only to remember the state of the dollhouse. On a spur of the moment decision she wished with all her heart that the wooden toy had never been broken. To her surprise, and Petunia's fright, the dollhouse began to miraculously repair itself. The girls of course ran screaming to their mother, and upon informing her she followed them up into the attic and stared in disbelief at the newly repaired miniature toy home.

And the strange things in the Evans household did not end there. For the next two years it became obvious that Lily seemed to be the one that instigated the paranormal events. Levitating objects and causing flickering lights when she was upset or scared. Repairing broken things with a great deal of concentration, and being able to bring things to her that were out of reach by either levitating them or making them appear before her.

Craig and Rose were astounded by these events, and a myriad of ideas and thoughts passed through their minds as they learned to cope with the fact that their youngest daughter had supernatural powers. Was it Devil Craft, Extraterrestrials, Poltergeist, Spirts or Ghosts? Slowly but surely they why and how stopped mattering to them, because being the kind of people they were they could never stop loving their daughter, and through a process of trial and error both Craig and Rose taught Lily how to better control her powers, and when or why to use them.

But all was not well in the Evans household; there was one person that was not pleased by the powers displayed by Lily Evans. Petunia did not like the new things her sister could do; they made her nervous, frightened, and at the same time jealous as her parents spent more time with Lily, indulging her and being amazed by her while leaving Petunia to the side. She felt ignored, cast aside as every day her sister seemed to grow more loved, more beautiful, and more intelligent. Lily of course tried to share and explore her abilities with her sister, but Petunia's fear kept her at arm's reach and she began to grow more distant from Lily, developing a spiteful streak as they grew older. But Lily still lover her older sister, and would always try to tag along and show how much she cared, calling her big sister Tuney as an affectionate nickname.

Although Lily could be considered popular among the school children in the small Primary school she attended with her sister, she had a distinct lack of close friends because of her fiery attitude when provoked and her keen mind. This left her feeling that the topics other girls discussed, like dolls and dresses, to be distinctly below her intellectual level, more so as time went on.

Then, at the age of eight she met him- Severus Snape. He was a quiet but intelligent boy with raven black hair and a slightly hooked nose, but he was mysterious and snarky. They were not what one could consider friends, more like school rivals. They were very knowledgeable children for their age, and they both had a need to show it to others, leading them to often compete for the highest position in class. To make matter worse they both shared a talent for many things, such math, chemistry, and reading. But whereas Severus leaned towards being cunning and snide, she tended to be rational and clever. Their personalities ground against each other in a good way, spurning each one to keep trying to outwit, outsmart, or outshine the other. Often times they could be found in the school library reading on subjects a few years above their age, topics most their age would have difficult comprehending. There were two large differences between them that further set the apart from one another, their personal and social lives were distinctly at opposite ends.

Severus, with his tallow looks, small stature, and grating personality was a prime target for bullies, in contrast Lily was extremely popular, her beauty, alongside her intelligence made her one of the most well like girls in school. Severus lived on the poorer side of Spinner's End by the river, his father, Tobias Snape was an abusive drunk that could hardly tolerate the abnormal and blamed his failing on others, and his mother, Eileen was a timid and downtrodden woman that could barely stand up to her husband, and would often fall prey to his angry fists just as many times as Severus would in her efforts to defend her son. Lily on the other hand had an otherwise happy home life, excluding her sister's growing distance; she had two loving and caring parents to return home to every day.

One thing that could be said about her however, was that she had neither patience nor tolerance for bullies, It took an accident underneath the bridge that crossed the river as it curved around a more forested part of Spinner's End where Severus almost drowned due to a group of older children harassing him that led her to expose her supernatural abilities when she saved him from the mucky waters.

The incident led her to learn what she really was, what Severus was as well. Magic Was Real! She was a witch, and Severus a wizard. Of course even against Severus's warning she want and told everything to her parents, both of who were happy to have their fears alieved, Craig with a calm acceptance, and her mother with an inquisitive hunger as she retold them everything Severus taught her. From then onwards they were best friends, changing their dynamic from one of grudging respect and competition to one of friendly banter and contemplation of the world as they discusses philosophy, the purpose of magic, and the world that awaited them.

Two more years went by as he taught her about the wizarding world, how his mother was a pureblood witch descended from a family falling into near poverty and obscurity since the War against Grindelwald. All the secrets the so called muggles would never know of even as they lived side by side, a secret world she would join at the age of eleven. Severus brought her books on potions, transfiguration, charms, the dark arts, history of magic, and magizoology. He told her of the division between pureblood, half-bloods, and muggleborns in the social hierarchy, and although they did not agree on all points, it was safe to say they both appreciated those that had both the mind and passion to rise above the masses. And in turn she was his friend and equal, she defended him from bullies, and in another occasion stopped his father from ever laying a finger on him or his mother ever again when she inevitably let slip his home life to her father, and Craig Evans marched over to the Snape household in a burning huff and taught Tobias Snape a lesson in manners and family respect he would never forget.

How could they not have become best friends, the quiet and moody loner that could match her wit and smarts and the sometime shy sometimes bubbly redhead with the fiery temper that was slow to rise but could explode like a volcano when provoked. Not all was well in the Evans household though, bit by bit her friendship with Severus made her sister all the more resentful, no longer did Lily spend time with her, but rather with the shabbily dressed Snape boy, no longer did they play together like in the past.

By the time Lily received her letter to Hogwarts her sister was rather cold and petty, even for a twelve year old. However two incidents would lead Petunia to loath her, and hate magic as well. The first happened the same week after Lily had received her letter. Petunia; under her fear and jealousy still lover her sister, but that love turned in on itself, becoming the beginning of true abhorrence when her plea to attend the same school as her sister was returned with nothing but an outright dismissal by the headmaster of Hogwarts. She was a muggle, and had no place in the magical world Lily would soon join. The second proved to Petunia, in her mind, that magic was something abnormal, something dangerous and unnatural.

For a while now Petunia had been following her sister out in secret, tailing her and watching from around corners or bushes as she would go meet and talk with that despicable Snape boy. Snape and Lily had yet to realize this, but on one trip Petunia made a mistake that almost cost her life. She decided to scare the two while they were talking in a small grove. Severus didn't take to well to being spied on, and unfortunately he lashed out in anger and accidental magic. If Lily had not been there to save her life, Petunia would have been crushed by the large branch that had cracked itself off a tree and flung itself at her. Bar the fact that she could have died, and that it was her sister that saved her life, Petunia saw the anger and judgment in Snape's eyes after standing from where she had been pushed by an invisible force from her sister's outstretched hand. From that day on there was something broken between the Evan's siblings, something that no matter how hard Lily or her family tried to fix, would remain for the rest of their lives.

But life continued, and even in her first year at Hogwarts Lily proved to be one of the most talented witches in the entire school. Like most muggleborns she was astounded an amazed by the magical world, but there was a distinct difference that set her apart. She never lost her wonder, never got sucked into the focal train of thought that seemed to affect all wizard kind, that magic was just a means to an end, where innovation had no allure because anything could be done by magic. For her entire seven years she applied her analytical and logical mind to the mysteries of magic, never forgetting her roots. Because of this she excelled, applying muggle ideas, knowledge, and principles to the illogical and physics breaking secrets of magic. During summers she was still home schooled by her mother with a high speed heavy crash course in science, history, mathematics, English literature, and geography. So while her muggleborn counterparts stuttered in their magical education and crashed in their muggle academics she progressed well past the level of secondary and into sixth form school.

Meanwhile at Hogwarts she was known as a teacher's pet, it did not bother her however, as she exceeded expectations in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies, and completely blew all expectations in Potions, Charms, Ancient Runes, and Arthimacy. She was the star of Gryffindor, and even though Horace Slughorn, Filius Flitwick, and Pomona Sprout were not her head of house, they praised her for her cunning, intellect, and work ethic. She was just as popular in Hogwarts as she had been back home, quickly becoming acquainted or friends with Alice Fortescue, Remus Lupin, Marlene McKinnon, Emmeline Vance, Mary Macdonald, Benjy Fenwick, Frank Longbottom, and Narcissa Black.

It became apparent however that being a witch was not everything she thought it would be. First was that although she had made friends with people in various houses, as time went on they grew further apart, especially those in Slytherin like Narcissa. Even Severus grew more and more distant, something that hurt her deeply after her falling out with her sister at such a young age. Then there was the immature Potter brat, his best friend Sirius- the notorious black sheep of house Black, and their sycophant follower Peter that had been bothering her and bullying others since their first year. Finally her growing realization that the British magical world was not as "magical" as it seemed left her disillusioned and dissatisfied with her position and standing as a female muggle born. No matter how smart she was, how well connected, how powerful or successful, she would always be lower than a Pureblood ass-hat like Malfoy and his entourage of privileged snob friends. Because of his little group and their families, including the Black family itself, she lost her friendship with Cissa completely by her third year.

Troubles struck one after another as her efforts to reconcile with her sister fell flat. Over the course of her time in Hogwarts the Pureblood movement had exploded from purely dogmatic campaigning, rallies, and recruiting at Hogwarts and developed into riots and attacks, full blown guerilla warfare, assassinations, disappearances, blackmail, and muggle killings lead by the newly risen Dark Lord, Voldemort.

On the bright side she had graduated as Head Girl with honorary accomplishment and commendation from Hogwarts in 1978, earning a plaque in the trophy room as the class dux. Potter had finally matured and taken on the mantle of Lord after both his parents Charlus and Dorea Potter inexplicably died of Dragon Pox out of the blue. He had finally managed to convince her to date during seventh year, and she- surprisingly, found herself quickly falling for the young man who it turned out could be very intelligent and mature. She was well connected to some influential people due her mentor Professor Slughorn, and had received apprenticeship and work offers in the fields of Potions, Ward-breaking, and Experimental Charms work. However, those plans would be left on hold due to the War efforts and her recruitment into the newly formed Order of The Phoenix - led by the bastion of the Light, Albus Dumbledore.

After marrying and moving in with James into the Ancestral Potter Manor aptly named Potter's Keep tragedy struck once more as both her parents died in a fire that started in in the Steel Mill and spread to the homes on the side of Spinner's End in which her parents lived, Lily's heartache from the misfortune that fell her parents was somewhat alleviated with the birth of her son Hadrian "Harry" James Fenris Potter in 1980, but it saddened both her and James that Harry would never meet his grandparents on either side of the family. Another drastic problem arose because of this, and both Potter's came to the realization that their family and close friends were quickly dwindling out, after having legally appointed Sirius Black as Harry's Godfather and Harry his legal heir, and Alice Longbottom as his Godmother she and James Wrote a co-op will that stipulated various backup plans in case of their death including the rights of guardianship, dispersal of assets, and ownership of accounts and property.

Now for the last few months she and James had been in hiding at the small Potter cottage in Godric's Hollow as the war against Voldemort raged on. Two months before her precious Harry was born Dumbledore had come to her and James and told them that he had come across information that was vital to their survival, the headmaster said that Voldemort had begun ordering strikes on the families of those that he had fought the dark wizard but escaped his grasp. Families that were important factors and contributors to the light or neutral side whether politically or financially were being hunted and killed in their own homes. For reasons unknown they and their friends the Longbottoms were now in mortal danger from a _direct_ attack form Voldemort and his two generals, Bellatrix Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov. Not long after under the advice of the headmaster she and James had left their home -Potter's Keep - and moved into their present safe house which was placed under the Fidelius charm by Dumbledore.

Although Potter's Keep; a small two story manor consisting of seven rooms surrounded by five acres of land with a guest home and barn was well warded, it was also the most obvious place to hide. A direct attack from Voldemort could be held in stalemate at most an hour, but eventually the dark wizard would be able to get through. The safe house that Dumbledore chose in Godric's Hollow was, unknown to them, situated right next to where the headmaster himself had lived while in his teenage years. It was an unlikely place to look for the family of three since such information was remembered by only a few elderly witches and wizards, and because a Fidelius charm made it all but nonexistent to those who even knew about it was surely the safest place for her family to hide.

Or so Dumbledore had said.

Two months after having gone into hiding Peter was made their secret keeper instead of Sirius, who had thought of the switch as a prank against Death Eaters in a form of subterfuge, he had eventually convinced her, James, and Dumbledore that it was the best option. Although she agreed with her son's Godfather on the bait and switch ploy as Sirius would be the most likely to be suspected as their secret keeper, she still thought that he would have been a better option as a secret keeper than Peter, she however conceded to Dumbledore's plan after he convinced her husband it was the best course of action.

That did not mean she wholeheartedly placed all her trust on Dumbledore and his decisions, since her first year at Hogwarts she had grown to respect the man, but she had always had a nagging discomfort whenever he took his time to speak with her. A certain small part of her mind always told her things were off about him, the way he spoke in riddle or allegory, the way he liked to keep things hidden, the way he acted so damn grandfatherly and yet there was always a way about him and his mannerisms, like a grand chess master that put on a friendly face that led her to believe he was always hiding something about everything he said and that the way he portrayed himself was meant to distract people from his true intentions or intellect.

Since she had gotten these feelings she had strived to act like everyone else did around Dumbledore, to put up an act of willing ignorance to follow him unquestionably as a sound leader, but as time went on she noticed that he gently pushed people into certain situations, he emitted a hidden influence on those around him. While both students and teachers, and magical Britain in general took his words as law; Lily felt it odd that no one ever questioned any of his actions or decisions. Although he was the acclaimed leader of the light, Dumbledore barley did anything to potentially better the magical world. The man had the influence and power, but he sat in his post as headmaster and let the earth revolve around him. These suspicions and his actions in regards to her family and her son had led her to investigate; although very quietly, the actions of the Elderly headmaster. After all, his slogan of "For the greater good" could be seen in a much darker light.

As a muggle born witch - a very smart and intuitive one at that, Lily had always strived to stay close to her roots and not forget about the muggle world while staying in the magical world, because of this she realized just how antiquated and prejudiced the magical world was. The British wizarding world and many aspects of other magical communities were based on a society with characteristics from the medieval, colonial, and Victorian era. Society was divided in castes, although the U.K seemed to be one of the most prevalently insular, secluded, and corrupt. Most of this was further developed through aging tradition that the main power base of so called Purebloods spread through ignorance and self-promotion of their views on an already stagnating culture.

Lily had through simple research concluded that the Ministry of magic was more akin to a socialist totalitarian oligarchy. To the sheeple of the wizarding world their government was fair, just, and vital to their way of life, but to her most if not all wizards and witches were oppressed in ways they did not notice nor understand. They all praised their own way of life but seemed to share the fundamental flaw of ignorance and illogical xenophobia of muggles, looking down on them as if they were inferior beasts, stupid animals with no intelligence or culture. Oh how this angered her, how it burned inside her to see change.

But how could she, a simple muggleborn change anything, she had no magical heritage, she was not wealthy, and she was female. In a society rife with racism, sexism and even classism someone like her could hardly hope to amount to anything more than a midlevel position job.

By her fifth year at Hogwarts it became apparent that Wizards lived a two faced life, preaching morality and blood purity, social rules and ethics only to turn around and break every single one. It infuriated her that most purebloods could still act like they were above other sentient races and so called muggle filth and savages, and justify their actions because they were noble, because they had magic. The one thing that spurned her on, as always was her intelligence. Something Lily prided herself above all else, and with due notice. To her mundane school peers she could have been considered a prodigy. By the time she left primary school at the age of elven she could already match a last year secondary student in both knowledge and aptitude.

Compared to wizarding children she was a genius! The main reason of course being that wizards, over time and especially in the last hundreds of years after society had settled into more civilized patterns of culture and rule had lost their need for innovation when they had magic to fall back on. With no notable wars or major cultural upheavals in their world at large and as a whole they lost the need to use magic like the warlocks and mages of old. Now simpler magic was the make all do all solution for anything. To the average witch or wizard, it did not matter exactly how magic or what it affected worked, just that it did. Simple theories made from conjecture on little evidence other than the observed facts were used to explain most spells. Tried and tested ideas in other subjects like potions and runes became a norm. In a world where simple physics could be seemingly ignored or broken, logical thought seemed to have fled for an almost uncaring laziness and attitude.

Even then there were more problems. Those few that dared to innovate or experiment, to go beyond the expected norm were either hailed as some great phenomenon, or if they came into too much power, they were branded as dark. Dumbledore had avoided that pitfall through both political connections and public persona. He exemplified the mental image of Gryffindor, and later –Merlin, in his dress, his speech, and his actions. It was no wonder he now held so many important positions.

However, through all the difficulties that had arisen, and even though she had never applied to any of her offered career choices, a surprise came to her soon after marriage. A simple slip of black parchment appeared on her bedside table while she was at home in Potter Manor and James was off on some Auror task. On its surface was printed an inverted crescent moon nestled underneath a seven pointed star surrounded by a ring and three circles with the initials D.O.M printed on the crescent. It took her an hour to not only realize it was the little seen symbol of the Department Of Mysteries, but to also unravel the enchantments placed on the parchment so that the hidden message revealed itself. It was a personal invitation from the head of the Unspeakables; who had taken a personal interest in her skills after observing her in her last years of schooling, for her to join their research and development division, and a warded portkey designed for her use only if she accepted the position.

Now of course she did not go rushing off, even though such a thing had her extremely excited, but rather decided to send the missive back with a request for a two way interview before she accepted, with her own touch of mystery of course. She dismantled the portkey without setting off its wards, transfigured the parchment into a little metallic automaton that could fold itself into s small inch wide cube, permanently charmed to act with a semblance of self-awareness as a personal desk helper, and finally remade both the wards and portkey charm with her own message before sending it off. The next day a second parchment with an amused reply appeared in the small hands of her creation. The head Unspeakable had accepted her terms for the interview to be held on the very same day. She made her excuses to James who was in the living room at the time and activated the portkey.

After she retuned that night she had both new information and new goal in mind. She was now an Unspeakable, and therefor only she and her handler, Head Unspeakable Saul Blackwood knew of her position.

In the rough total of five years she worked under Saul he came to be something of a father figure to her as she apprenticed directly under him. He was a mastermind of strategy, a fountain of archaic knowledge. He was a caring man that had lost his family in the Second World War, but most surprisingly of all was that he had risen to his position through pure brilliance and hard work despite the fact that like her, he was a muggleborn.

Under his tutelage she flourished like never before. If she was considered a prodigy at Hogwarts before even though the standardized and regulated classes held her back, she could now be said to be a genius at whatever she applied herself to with such a wealth of readily available resources and information that would be restricted to most of the population. Lily brought innovation and ideas to the table like no other, but even though she greatly enjoyed her work, her dreams of changing the wizarding world were put off by a more sinister problem that grasped its claws deeper that she ever thought possible.

The Ministry was a parasite of magic, of knowledge, of power. Every single worker under its employment, from simple clerk to the Minister himself was bound and tied and chained by the very system they supported under a mountain of oaths so binding and coagulated and administered and written and reused by the old families and the old blood that it was a surprise anything ever got done. Any job in the Ministry could be a prison, not that many ever knew it. The Minister was told by his predecessor only after being sworn in, that is if the predecessor survived his term of office. She was lucky enough that Saul had enough leeway in his position that he had been upfront with her. The tradeoff for her tabling her personal goals for he thirst for knowledge that could be used later, a compromise she made with plans to correct them in the future.

With her being Saul's apprentice, the truth became unmasked, the true gravity of the problems of their world that she was now bound to, was but a symptom of a greater disease that had been growing like a cancer for a very long time. Although her position gave her latitude in her choices, if called upon she was now obligated, by oath, by magic, to do the will of the Ministry. She realized that the system held her, her husband, many other good people back from doing what was necessary to end the war, to change the world. Even a powerful wizard like Dumbledore was chained to it.

No one knew the full extent of the oaths they would take when joining the Ministry. They didn't hand over a stack of parchments outlining their rules on a person's first day. From a normal wizard to even a person in her position, they were not told that there was an oath upon applying, an oath at the interview, a few oaths upon starting as a paper-pusher, then as a junior researcher, a few more oaths at the research division if you survived the exposure to all the papers and rules. By the time one was a capable employee of the Department of Mysteries; one was bound with oaths and contracts thicker than the latest edition of Hogwarts a History. Luckily for her she and Saul were the few that were not bound so tightly and had more latitude to act.

However it angered them both, especially with the civil war they now faced that meanwhile those shady people, those not officially indoctrinated into this system but with even some knowledge of its workings and a bit of coin could buy whole laws to protect themselves from people in the Ministry, people bound by oaths and old magic's. Good people that were hamstrung by once decent laws, now abused by the evil that slunk around in the corners of their society. The old ways, the ways of justice for those who escaped official notice, were denied.

There were laws that prevented Ministry oath holders from killing except in circumstances of direst self-defense and even then not always. There were laws that crippled and restricted all law enforcement related departments and stations- the very people trying to win the war. It was all a mess, all these purchased laws, all these private sanctuaries for evil.4 The Ministry served as one of the strongest involuntary bindings created by the week to control the strong. It was a system turned into a disgusting artifact.

Binding was the greatest of the secret arts of the modern wizarding world. Advanced magic was reserved to those licensed to teach it, who in turn were controlled by their own oaths for having learned it. Magic involving necromancy was illegal, their teachings and uses blacklisted and suppressed from public knowledge, unless done with a permit through a solicitor that was required to get a permit for the same, and ministry official present. A permit only issued to those willing to part great amount of monetary "donations" to the Ministry. Blood and soul magic were illegal, period. That meant possessing, having knowledge of, or teaching such magic was punishable with life in Azkaban. Not that had stopped her from delving into certain aspects of blood wards and rituals during her time with Saul. The teaching of binding magic without a permit was the only kind punishable by death through Dementor's kiss. Even the knowledge of something simple like the Unbreakable Vow; which had to be taken willingly, was considered dark magic.

So it was of course expected that the study of binding magic was reserved to the Ministry and the Ministry alone; reserved for the oath crafters who hid behind their titles and pretended that they had power because they were allowed to. The Ministry oaths were wide and deep, but some of the components were old, some included by tradition4, a tradition left out and hidden from the ignorant and unsuspecting muggleborns like her. Of course all the true understanding, forewarning, and preparation for Wizarding culture passed from father to son, mother to daughter within the pureblood circles and the old and "Most Noble" of families, no need to inform the lowly muggleborns of their rights and knowledge or lack thereof.

Lily knew that like all things, in hindsight, it should have been obvious, but the system was set up to blind and conceal the truth, to dazzle the muggleborns to the world of magic with this new world and power that they had thought was once fiction, a fairy tale, or a bedtime story of dragons and monsters and castles and warlocks and knights and princesses. The system was set to disestablish and separate them from their roots, but leave them grounded and lost in the truth of the matter. While pureblood families could teach their child of magic, and politics, and secret hidden realities from the second they could crawl, muggleborns were sprung upon with this knowledge at the age of eleven, there was no forewarning, no integration, and no one for parents to turn to when their child caused these unexplainable things that seemed like the paranormal.

Until surprise! After a possible eleven years of frightening and unexplainable events revolving about your child it turns out magic does exist and wizards and wizards are real! Your child is a witch or wizard, handshake, handshake, welcome to the world of magic! Here is your pamphlet, good day, now next in line… Lily could consider herself lucky that she was still accepted by her parents, and only lost her sister's acceptance. Others were not so fortunate, they and their families believed in their god or gods, they believed in heaven and hell or science and advancement and they refused to accept or wanted to oust the magical world. Oaths and obliviation and magical bindings were the standard solution used to enforce the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, and in their wake families were left broken and lost with no explanation.

As an unspeakable Lily had access to the truth, but could not speak of it, she had the knowledge, but could not share it. She now knew that the things that had seemed to be the pillars that held up the wizarding world were glass and sand, smoke and mirrors. The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was useless and a joke. Persecution and fear that had begun early in fifteenth century Europe and lasted until the seventeenth century had left wizards of the Old World with a segregated mindset.

In their own self isolation witches and wizards came to believe that only seclusion would keep them safe. And for a time they were right. But they stayed secluded, they kept hidden in their little magical world safe behind oaths and spells and wards as they caught only small glimpses of the outside world. A world that had grown and changed and advanced more in the last three hundred years that in the previous ten thousand as theirs began to stagnate and rot from the inside. The International Statute of Secrecy was signed in 1689… By wizards, an unofficial, unsanctioned treaty that was neither endorsed nor authorized by their own countries governments or ruling body. Like the thirteen colonies of the New World that declared their independence from Great Brittan the magical world had declared their own independence, except that they neglected to tell anyone but themselves.

And then her son was born, and Dumbledore came to them with his news of Voldemort's hunt, and so she set about a contingency plan to end all other, worked with Saul to lay out the foundations of a plot that would ensure her and her husband's bloodline. It was a plan that looped completely around her binding and oaths, secrets within secrets that would have had her soul sucked out of her body if they were ever found out while she lived.

All her research, notes, ideas, and goals were written out along with the memories of her life. A memento and guide for her son. In this notebook she expresses the simple and yet crucial truth to the sickness that plagued their world. It was only a symptom of something far greater than she could know, but the right questions where never asked, the right directions were never faced, history itself had been erased and rewritten, hidden and locked away to hide something, something incomprehensible.

It only really mattered to her because of her son, because of Harry; she was bound in life, but in death would be free. Harry would not be bound; he would have her knowledge, and his strength to do what she could do no longer. Her precious child would be the unyielding spear of change, the unbreakable scythe that would shear away the sickness and corruption. Her words and memories and her very soul would be his shield and foundation. The oaths she had given would not matter.

(Flashback end)

And now it all led up to this moment. She could feel in in her soul, what she was about to attempt would be a turning point, a divide in the timeline, she was going against fate.

Lily stared at her precious son as the flickering light from the pallid vermilion flames formed strange shadows on his face, her eyes caught up in the emerald green that were so much like her own.

"The common witch and wizard fears power – and adores it. Thy flock to those that have it like moths to a flame, and in turn just as easily resent and hate these idols they have place on a marble pillar, and are just as prone to topple it when their little world does not match the fantasy they have created within their minds. They praise their heroes one day, then mock and ridicule them the next. This paradox, one of many has guided and warped our world for at least four centuries, if not longer." She caresses her son face she spoke, waiting for the precise time for her to finish the ritual.

'The weak still ruled the world.' She thought to herself as her son giggled at her wondering fingers on his belly.

"But you will rule the week…" Lily smiled at her words, to any other person, even her best friends, even her husband, she would have sounded like some dark lady, but she understood, she knew of the lies that had watered down real magic until it was but a dull reproduction of its powerful origins. She knew the steps needed to ensure her sons future, her family's future, and the future of the world even. "If they knew what I am about to do, and why, would they see me as good, or as evil Harry?" Her son responded with a giggle at her arched brow and thin smile as he tugged at her fiery red hair.

Outside this cave the war against Voldemort was already wearing on the light side, their numbers were being devastated and the Dark Lord was growing in both power and followers every day; striking fear into the hearts of the wizarding world with a terror campaign of hit and run warfare and guerrilla tactics that the more reserved and conservative Aurors could not hope to compete with. The Order of the Phoenix was hard pressed to win any fights- a fact that led Lily to realize that wizards in general sucked at fights, especially those of the self-proclaimed light side, who in a live or die situation still tried to stun or capture death eaters while the death eaters held nothing back and threw around curses and mayhem without a care. So many good people dead because they held onto and listened to the preaching's of Dumbledore.

They would use insurgent warfare tactics and worked to cause maximum destruction and death leaving the light wizards to flounder helplessly. She tried to convince order members to fight fire with fire- but her words were unheeded. So far only Moody, James, and Sirius seemed to listen or agree. Now the tides would turn, and her son would grow to be the eye of the raging storm, a force of nature that would shake magical Britain to its core and wipe away the sickness like a raging flood.

"There are currently two sides in this war, the so called Dark, and the self-proclaimed Light. A few sit off to the side by choice, while others are force to take sides. The fight between Voldemort and Dumbledore is almost like something out of a comic book, they so lover their posturing and needling, both are megalomaniacs and wankers." Her son responded with a burst of babble as he wiggled his small arms and legs in the air at the funny faces his redheaded mother was making in her attempt to mock the Dark Lord.

With the so called prophecy Dumbledore had received but neglected to divulge to her revealed anyways by Saul soon after it was recorded into the Hall of Prophecies, it was evident that she and her husband might not survive this war, but her son would, he would be the catalyst to change the world. It was also obvious now that she had been right in her assumptions about Dumbledore's actions and motives.

Her wand vibrated in her hand, signaling that the time for reminiscing was over; the ritual was now set to be completed. Her soul would serve as a shield for Harry, like a Horcrux, but made from love and sacrifice, intended not to safeguard the life of its creator, but rather, that of another.

A few minutes later high above the ruins of the Peverell home a thin bolt of lightning flashed from the ground and into the heavens before returning as a continuous pillar of electric energy that dissipated after a few seconds as the air distorted in an expanding sphere. Miles away a shockwave of magical energy passed through Godric's Hollow and resonated through the air, a brief ripple that could barley be seen with the naked eye and only left a tingle of static on the skin. Carefully pulling herself up onto shore from where she had been thrown from the burst of energy that entered her son Lily wiped the sweat from her brow. The second stage of the ritual had left her muscles aching and her body exhausted, her magic near spent. With what little she had left she froze the surface of the water and walked across to her son.

Harry lay crying in the glassed remains of the rune stone, it appeared to be a rounded, star like crystal cradle made of razor sharp obsidian that pointed outward with a glass smooth depression in the center where he wept. Channeling energy to her eyes Lily could see seven runes embedding themselves directly into his soul and body, just as they faded from view on his skin. Picking up the still crying Harry she looked down with total love and affection at her little boy, her miracle of life.

"I will always love you Harry, no matter what happens you will always have me to protect you, in here." Pointing at his heart she snuggled her now sleeping son into her bare chest. She wrapped her son in his blanket once more, crooning to him as he quickly fell asleep before dressing herself after having crossed back to shore.

That night all traces of magic were siphoned off and any markings of human disturbance were hidden under layers of dust, dirt, and webs. The Tomb left seemingly undisturbed, its stone doors sealed once more, vines and moss overgrowing the crumbling façade. With the fidelius only one person on earth would remember its location, her child being the secret keeper.

[4] Excerpt lines from Knowledge is Useful, But Power is Power By: DisobedienceWriter, go read it it's a good but short story: s/8215565/1/Knowledge-is-Useful-But-Power-is-Power

[1] What the cave kind of looked like (will add image later)

[2] What the outside of the crypt looked like (will add image later)

[3] The D.O.M Symbol on the parchment (will add image later)


	4. Condemned

-THE BOY WHO LIVED… condemned to hell-

-Oct 31st 1981, late night-

Michael stumbled out of the door, his head ringing from the aftermath of the drinking he had done throughout the entire time he had been at his coworkers costume party. He adjusted the pointed hat on his head and leaned slightly on the front yard fence of the developmental four story red brick condo before deciding to sit down as the street kept swinging back and forth. It had been an incredible night, great company, a good time all around, and Rebecca from work had kissed him full on the lips after she had accepted his semi drunken proposal for a date. It was now well past midnight and he deicide… hold that thought. Quickly reaching up to his costume wizard had Michael pulled it down over his mouth and used it as an impromptu bucket, before realizing he was only dry heaving. 'Oh right I already threw up in the bathroom' his hazy mind reminded him. Tomorrow morning was going to suck, he could already imagine the raging headache and cotton mouth.

Placing his hat back on his head Michael adjusted his thin purple robes against the chill air before starting off towards his own home, which was only ten minutes away on foot, living near the business district of London the buildings where rather closely packed together, and therefore almost mazelike in their layout of the streets. Leaning against an old red phone booth that had been there since before he moved into central London Michael stopped to take a breath as another bout of nausea and vertigo struck him. When he got home he was definitely going to pass out on the couch. Even if Michael had been sober he would have never noticed anything odd about that specific phone booth, after all similar ones were located all throughout London.

However this one In particular was very special indeed. Unbeknownst to the general populace or government, deep below that exact red phone booth, through meters of asphalt, dirt, concrete and sewers, underneath the subway and service tunnels and even further down beneath an immense atrium lined with polished dark ebony-green marble tiles there was a seemingly non-descript office. In this office sat a middle aged man of unassuming and yet robust physique. His thinning brown hair was cut military short on his scalp to the point of only being slight fuzz from his receding hairline; his oval face and wide triangular jaw were complemented by his straight Romanesque nose. He wore a monocle in his left eye, similar to his friend and coworker Amelia Bones, and dressed in an almost muggle like fashion, with a steel gray business coat and silver tie underneath his iron grey cloak resembling a western duster coat. When on duty to most he was simply known as Director, only those that he considered close friends or family knew his real name, though he had a preference for going by his last. This man was Saul Blackwood; head Unspeakable for the last 35 years and wizard on par with the likes of Merlin himself. Or so he told everyone who hadn't heard it at least twice since meeting him.

Blackwood currently sat in his executive muggle leather reclining chair he was given as a Christmas gift last year by his underling Croaker under the excuse he had to learn to relax more as he poked and prodded the enigmatic wooden puzzle cube floating above his desk while taking meticulous notes on the reactions the cube gave off as its metal inlaid surface shifted and twisted about. Similar to its muggle counterpart in appearance, which was known as a rubix cube and had been submitted to his as a base design choice for a new invention when one of the researchers under his division had copied its initial form after having stumbled upon its inventor Ernő Rubik. This cube was not a simple toy though; it in fact was a prototype dimensional storage device and tool set. Specific configurations of its many facets would open it to reveal an internally expanded space the size of a home, transform it into a multi portkey, a ward breaker, or cause it to fuse to the nearest solid surface to prevent theft.

His office was sparsely decorated and not overly large, occupying a space of only about seven by six meters. The floor was lined with the same ebony-green marble tiles as the Atrium of the Ministry, and the walls were of dark red cherry wood inlaid with gothic patterns with gold wire. The room was lit by a golden burning gas lantern contained inside of a fine crystal sphere suspended from the ceiling. Directly beside the elegant black door was a simple iron perch for an owl to roost on. On the wall adjacent to the door was a heavy oak bookcase filled to the brim with dusty tomes of reference material, indexes and diagrams. Opposite the entrance and behind the large and ornately carved wooden desk was a blatantly obvious safe that occupied almost half the wall; its surface consisted of a large flat gold disk of ten equally spaced rings with evenly spread out runes circling each ring. The inner ring was about a hands width wide and served as a central dial while each consecutive ring had an increasing number of runes by a factor of five, so that the second ring had ten symbols, and the last and outermost ring had fifty. This gave the safe a total of over 35 trillion different possible combinations with only one being correct. On the opposite side of the bookcase were rows of filing cabinets containing important documents detailing various projects and points of research chosen by the man occupying the chair.

It was well past getting late but with no real family to go home to and no real set schedule there was no real need to rush or finish a day except on his own hours. Nevertheless glancing at his large black steel watch Saul noticed its various gold symbol adorned on interlocking rings that mirrored the appearance of the safe behind his back now read out {10:59 Oct 31 1981}. Standing to place the cube back into the safe he was about to reach out to align the rings when he noticed a vibrating noise emanating from inside it. After sliding the rings into their proper slot each consecutive ring slid back into the wall a few centimeters further than the previous one with a metallic thunk before sliding down into the floor. Saul stepped into the expanded walk in closet sized safe and placed the cube inside a velvet lined drawer before he reached to a smaller compartment labeled "Lily Potter".

He pulled out a silver orb that fit in his palm; this was the life line detector Lily had made for his use for when she went on dangerous field missions. The fact it had appeared in his safe and was still vibrating with a tiny metallic resonance did not bode well. With rising trepidation Saul rushed to leave his office after having shut the safe, orb still in hand when it suddenly silenced with a crack as it shattered and crumbled into silver dust.

He dropped down into his chair in defeat. 'There was nothing he could do now; if the life line detector for Lily was broken she was no longer in the world of the living. If her skills could not save her from such a fate the first part of the prophecy must have come to pass. With her gone with certainty it meant James and Harry must be as well. It was not like he could go aid them, surely the Dark Lord had finished them off. And with the Fidelius he would not be able to find their… wait, he could remember where their safe house was!'

Saul scrambled from his office, it would take him an hour to reach Godric's hollow after having gathered a team of field operative Unspeakables, but by then it would be too late, the house was heavily damaged and empty except for the two still corpses of the potters. In death Lily lay on the floor of the nursery, arms spread in a clear effort to guard the empty crib, she had not fought back. Her corpse was set in a more natural position, where it not for the paleness of her skin and lack of breadth she could have been sleeping. James was not so lucky for in the first floor parlor a quick but decisive battle was fought. The dismembered carcasses of dead transfigured animals were strewn about, spell burns lashed across the walls and James lay in the kitchen- a hole blasted clean through his chest from the power of the spell that had thrown him through the parlor wall. His skin was deathly white with the veins prominently bold and turned black. An evident case of death through overpowering dark magic. The nursery had a large hole blown into the back wall, opening into the open night sky that slowly brightened with color from the rising sun.

The surrounding area was teaming with uncooperative Aurors and bustling ministry workers that whispered of Voldemort's defeat and refused to work with his party of investigators, making the reconstruction of the crime scene take significantly longer than was needed. Saul could not locate Sirius by any means which meant that damn man was hiding under some strong spells and he was held back from searching for Lily's missing child by a heap of bureaucratic problems and red tape. Apparently Dumbledore had been at the scene and had taken Harry in and hidden him in a safe location for his own safety, or so he was told by a random Auror. The only explanation the old man had given to the Ministry employees was that through Harry Voldemort had been defeated, and for his own safety was being hidden away to protect him from the reaches of the Death Eaters still at large.

For all of the touted intelligence Dumbledore was said to possess Saul could not believe the stupidity of such a statement that would clearly paint a target on Harry's back. Why the hell had Dumbledore said anything at all, it was obvious that word of the Dark Lords defeat by said child would spread like wildfire to the entire UK in mere hours, surely he realized Death Eaters would hear of such news. And where the bloody hell was Sirius Black, he was Harry's Godfather, surely he would have realized that remembering where the Potters where in Godrics Hollow meant the Fidelius had dropped and they were dead, why hadn't he come to get his godson?

There were many questions left unanswered to the general populace of witches and wizards in the U.K. on the early morning of November 1st, the least few being where Harry Potter was, and more importantly- How had the dark Lord been defeated by a mere infant? It would take another day for the future Boy-Who-Lived to be dropped off at the Dursleys with non but three people the wiser of such a fact, and by that time Dumbledore had managed to seal the Potter Will and enact a few older bylaws that had him declared as the child's magical guardian. By the end of that fateful week the Longbottoms had been attacked and placed in ST. Mungo's indefinitely, Harry Potter Had vanished from the magical world, and Sirius Orion Black was lying curled up and sobbing in a maximum circuity cell in Azkaban.

Dumbledore not only refused to meet with Saul at every turn with a wide use of excuses and complicated sidesteps; he also blockaded every avenue for him to find the child of his favorite apprentice, sealing all methods and records even to his clearance level and station. With none of the backup guardians having even received notification of Harry's whereabouts Saul worried that Dumbledore had taken Guardianship into his own hands, but the damn wily head master would not yield answers even when directly asked. With all the unanswered questions and loose ends what worried Saul more was not the fact that Voldemort was defeated, but at what cost?

-Nov 1st 1981, Night-

If ever an award could be given to worst people of the year, worst role models of the year, and worst parents of the year, then surely Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of Number Four, Privet Drive would fit the bill nicely. Not that their avian observer really cared- it being a totally human affair and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. A beady black eye blinked and focused its intent back on its evening meal, a small toad that had been picked up not too long ago. The eye belonged to what appeared to be a northern raven- or Corvus corax as some would call it. It was one of many similar birds spread out all over great Brittan in a grid like pattern, somewhat evenly spaced from each other. What set these particular ravens apart from their more ordinary cousins however was their abnormally large size, their particularly razor sharp beaks, and most importantly the distinctive deep red gloss of their feathers.

In the dark of the night from its position at the top of a tree it went unnoticed by the occupants of Number Four, Privet Drive. The raven in question had been in several locations all over the U.K. along with its brethren as they had been commanded to ever since a disturbance was felt by their master around September. Some particular activity had been noted in this area however, which was how it had stumbled upon the scene below. The problem was finding out why a witch was slumming it in her feline animagus form in a muggle neighborhood that could be as far removed from magic as anything possibly could be.

The witch was now circling the edifice of Number four, unaware of its silent watcher as it spied on the humans within the cookie cutter home. Said humans were of course proud to say that they were perfectly normal, average, upstanding British citizens. They wouldn't be caught dead involving themselves in anything strange or mysterious, in fact they had a rather commendable level of disdain for such things. It was an attitude matched by every human on that street-though not nearly to their level, all of which seemed to have little tolerance for anything out of the ordinary, anything that went against their perfect little world. This of course was all a lie, a thin veneer to hide the internal strife they held as individuals and families. And in truth most of them hated each other because behind closed doors it was clear that most residents of Private drive had rather strong opinions on the boorish slob of a father Dursley, the straight-laced and sour Petunia, and their fat baby seal of a son Dudley.

By this point however it was evident to the raven that the perfect image the Dursleys tried overly hard to convey was a complete bucket of hogwash. Contrary to the way they liked to portray themselves to anyone else but the neighbors or any of Mr. Dursley's clients the family could be described as being arrogant, rude, and crass. The father was a bigot, often times racist, a complete sleaze, and had had anger issues to boot. With the table manners of a pig and the body mass of a walrus it was by no means a kind portrayal of Vernon Dursley. Mrs. Dursley was a spiteful woman, poking her nose in everyone's business and spreading scandal and rumor like the plague. She loved to see people suffer her lies, and could be quite hateful and conceited as well. What many of the gossiping ladies of Private Drive often discussed behind Petunia Dursley's back was the fact that her overly long neck, slight overbite, straw blond hair, and long pinched face gave her the slight resemblance to the equine species.

So far all this had been gleaned by the raven as well as the witch posing as a tabby Maine Coon with the oddly spectacle like pattern on its face. What the feline did not know, but had been discovered by the raven through its clandestine observations and stalking of Mr. Dursley was his routine to and at work as the director of a small firm called Grunnings, which made dental and power tool drills. It gave a little more insight into the kind of man he was, which would be easy enough to say, not a pleasant man at all.

What did bring jest to the raven- which was intelligent enough to have such thoughts, was the contrasting appearance of the Dursley Family. How was it that such a bitter woman, who had really little going for her in aesthetic terms; being thin as a rail and flat as an iron board with a vultures demeanor could have found a mutual attraction in a man who looked like a bipedal walrus with hair and the temperament of angry bulldog seemed nigh unlikely. It was enough however to apparently end up mating and producing a child who seemed to be a combination of all their worst qualities.

-Nov 2st 1981, Early Morning-

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on one dull, gray Monday to a sky slightly clouded and a light drizzle falling onto the pavement , there was nothing going about to suggest that abnormal and freakish things would soon be happening all over the country. Vernon Dursley hummed a song he recently heard on the radio to himself as he picked his favorite grey tie out of a drawer. Glancing out the window he noticed a tabby cat sitting near the fence surrounding the back of the yard, a cat that was staring directly at him with an amount of focus uncommon to any animal. It was the same cat that had been roaming around his yard for the past two days, and could not be shooed away, even when he had come out with a shovel and tried to smash its furry little head in.

He reminded himself to call animal control later in the evening when he came back from work to see if they couldn't get rid of the mangy pest; but even as that thought crossed his mind another intruded- it was odd that the fur on its face made it seem to be wearing spectacles, but that was absurd. Cats didn't wear glasses. Shaking the negative thought out of his head he proceeded to finish dressing. Meanwhile downstairs his wife Petunia gossiped away happily on the corded kitchen phone as she tried to wrestle a screaming Dudley into his high plastic chair, Unaware of the two presences keenly watching her from the yard and across the street.

Outside a large tawny speckled owl fluttered past the window in a quiet swoop before circling back and landing on the vertex of number eight's roof, completely unnoticed by a single resident of Private drive. It was not the only owl either, and if anyone had bothered to look outside or up into the sky, they would have noticed the odd occurrence of quite a few owls seemingly coming to and fro from who know where to where knows who. The raven of course noticed this; as had its many brethren, its master had been made aware of the strange occurrence of such activity in Britain. Something was afoot in the wizarding world.

Vernon followed his daily weekday morning routine as he clomped heavily down the stairs and came into the kitchen, setting his plain leather briefcase upon the kitchen counter nearest the front door and not so gently falling into the chair at the head of the table. Glancing at the wall mounted clock he saw that he had half an hour to finish his breakfast. Unsurprisingly it included a stack of bacon, a pile of flapjacks drenched in syrup and butter, and a small mound of eggs… sunny side up. Drinking from a large mug filled with dark roast coffee Vernon began to devour breakfast in a fashion not so dissimilar to his seventeen month old son. At half past eight, Vernon picked up his briefcase, pecked Petunia on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. "Little tyke," he chortled before leaving the house. He got into his steel grey Ford Capri and backed out of number four's gravel driveway.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of anything peculiar - a cat reading a foldout pamphlet map. For a second, Vernon didn't realize what he had seen - then he jerked his head around to look again. It was the same tabby cat from his yard standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. He blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back, seemingly glaring at him from its seated position. As Vernon drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the flea infested beast from his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive - no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs, and they certainly could not wear glasses. "Animal control won't be here soon enough" he grunted under his breath and decided to call them about this pest at work. He gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove west towards Reading for half an hour he thought of nothing except a large order of small caliper dental fixture drills he was hoping to get shipped out that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, which would probably make his trip to work last another ten minutes, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people walking about. People in cloaks, it was bloody unbelievable!

He couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes - the getups you saw on young people these days, it was outrageous! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion that all the young sods wore just to annoy their parents. He drummed his thick sausage like fingers on the steering wheel as his beady eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdoes standing to close to his car. They were whispering excitedly together. Vernon was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck the large man that this was probably some silly stunt from a bunch of barmy nutters with no common sense - these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Vernon arrived in the underground Grunnings parking garage, his mind back on drill shipments and the long legs of the new blond secretary that had been hired the previous week.

Vernon always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor of the management office building. It was fortunate that he did or he would have found his morning ruined be the sight of dozens of owls of every species in England swopping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did see this spectacle. Pedestrians pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead across the entire sky in every direction. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime, and while the people below marveled at the avian phenomenon occurring outside Vernon Dursley was enjoying his perfectly normal, owl-free morning.

He yelled at five different people because he thought they were slacking on their order placement and accounts verifications. He made several important telephone calls to a few companies and private businesses located around London as well as calling for animal control to capture the annoying fleabag that had taken up residence in his yard, and shouted a bit more at one man he found talking to his blond secretary named Kristen… or Karen, something with a K. He even managed to get a feel of her arse as he left his office during lunchtime in a very good mood, completely ignoring her angry glare burning holes into his back as he left the office.

Feeling content with the day so far Vernon thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a tidbit of food from the bakery one block down from the Grunning's building. He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed, clenching one hand around his coin purse and squeezing the other into a fist as he sped up to pass them by. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. These particular bunches of twits were whispering excitedly, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large bag of two dozen doughnuts, that he caught a few words of their whispered and not so discrete conversation.

He managed to overhear one sentence from a particularly odd man wearing a lime green cloak whose hair was in a greying disarray; "The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard yes, their son, Harry"

Vernon stopped dead as a cold chill was felt creeping down his fat neck and back as fear flooded through him. He glanced with a squinty glare back at the whispering group as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it. Dashing back across the road, he hurried into the elevator and up to his office panting and out of breath, snapped at his secretary Kristal not to disturb him, seized the telephone on his desk, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down rather forcibly and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry. He'd never even seen the little arsemonger. It might have been Harvey. Or maybe it was Harold. Well, there was no point in worrying his wife; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister or anything having to do with those freaks. He didn't blame her - if he'd had a freakish sister like that, one that used… _the M word_... but all the same, those people in cloaks still put him on edge...

For the rest of the afternoon Vernon was unable to concentrate on a single thing and even ignored the hissed "Sodding Tosser" his secretary threw at him in a viper like vitriol as she dropped off a pile of documents to his inbox. Deciding to leave early at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the office door that had been blocking the exit and his trip to the underground parking garage across the street.

"Bloody Git! Watch where your standing!," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Vernon realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak and a magenta top hat with various scarves tied around the base of the stack. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground by a very large and very rude man. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile as he grabbed Vernon's hands in-between his and began vigorously shaking them up and down in an overenthusiastic way while speaking in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare.

"Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has been banished at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, for this is a happy, happy day!" Vernon stiffened as the old man hugged him around his substantial middle before walking off and disappearing around the corner. Unable to form a coherent thought as anger started to blossom in his chest he stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger, touched by some freak. He was also sure he had been called a Muggle, whatever the bloody hell that was. He was rattled and his temper had begun growing, a steadily rising irritation since that morning when strange things began happening. He hurried to get to his Capri and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped for before, because he didn't approve of such a trivial thing as imagination. It was a useless thing to have when the here and now was what mattered, daydreaming like some nitwit about things that could never happen would not put food on your table or be in anyway productive.

Pulling into the gravel driveway of number four with a screech of the brakes, the first thing he saw - and it didn't improve his mood, but rather was the cause of his face darkening in anger - was the tabby cat he'd seen that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes. Hoping that animal control would arrive soon he glared at the cat and squatted down to pick up a few rocks from the drive.

"Shoo you mangy flea bag!" Vernon hissed. The cat didn't budge. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? He wondered. Taking aim with one hand while his coat was draped over the other arm which was holding his briefcase he threw the first rock and watched it sail too far to the side. Taking aim again he threw once more and the spot hit right under where the cat was sitting. The tabby still refused to move and only hissed at him before calmly walking across the top of the wall and jumping into a bush. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house and hung his coat, today he would need a few shots of scotch to cool off while he watched the evening news. He was still determined not to mention anything about his strange day to his wife so as not to upset her, she abhorred even the slightest hint of anything peculiar.

Petunia Durlsey had had a nice, normal day. As they ate dinner she told him all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter dressing in black, coming in at odd hours, and becoming some "Goth slag" and how Dudley had finally learned a new word apart from "No" - ("Won't!"). Vernon tried to act normally, nodding at all the right moments, grunting his agreement and declaring that the neighbors were too soft and didn't know how to properly raise a child, unlike them of course. From the back dining room window, unnoticed by the family inside the tabby cat peered in and seemed to be watching intently at their conversation before it stalked off into the shadows as the Dursleys left the kitchen. When Dudley had been put to bed after another screaming tantrum where he had thrown his Action Man figure at the wall, he managed to get to the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"….. And finally, bird-watchers everywhere across the UK have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls are nocturnal and normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early - it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight!"

Vernon sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the bloody Potters... His wife came into the living room carrying a cup of tea on a small plate. It was no good he decided, he'd have to say something to her, even if it reminded her of her sister. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Er - Petunia, dear - you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?" As he had expected, Petunia looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply with a glare that told him to end the conversation now, but against his better judgment he decided to proceed. "Why?" she asked him.

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."

"So?" Petunia snapped back as her hand began to shake, causing the tea cup to tinkle against the plate.

"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd."

His wife sipped her tea through pursed lips and he wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter" from the group of abnormal people he came across at work. Deciding he valued his ears more than his curiosity he didn't dare to face the wrath of one of her screeching lectures. Instead he said, as casually as a man of his predisposition could, "Their son - he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose so," his wife answered stiffly.

"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?" a bead of sweat went down the side of his pudgy face and into the fold of his neck.

"Harry. A Nasty, common name, if you ask me. I'm sure it fits the little monster perfectly."

"Oh, yes," Vernon replied, his heart sinking horribly as the feeling of dread grew in the pit of his chest. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed trying to put the darker thoughts out of his mind. While Petunia was in the bathroom doing her womanly business, Vernon crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. And the bloody tabby cat was still there, sitting calmly at the corner of the yard! It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something. Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did... if it got out that they were related to a pair of - well, he didn't think he could bear it. His meaty fists clenched with suppressed annoyance. "Well at least we will never have to deal their sodding lot." He thought to himself before he got into bed with his wife, who had just exited the bathroom. While it was clear that Petunia fell asleep quickly by the sound of her deeper breathing he couldn't help but lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and his family, they had a clear and mutual dislike. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on - he yawned and turned over - it couldn't affect them...

How he would remember and come to regret those words on the last day of his life.

-Nov 1st 1981, Late Night-

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the tabby feline on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, resolute in its night watch, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly two in the morning before the cat moved at all. From a branch in a tree across the street and a few houses down at number 9 Privet Drive the observing raven waited. It seemed in luck that it's stumbled upon discovery was finally going to come to fruition in whatever mysterious events were going on in such a boring muggle neighborhood.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched in annoyance and its eyes narrowed. So too did the raven's eyes as it turned its full attention onto the aura the man was leaking. This was a powerful wizard indeed, but what business did he have here with the witch?

The powerful wizard in question was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was rather long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome; the least insulting thing he would have been called by any of the residents was a pooftah or a nutter ponce. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something in one of its various deep pockets. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. It was a good thing to that the feline had taken his attention, as it had given the raven time to suppress the power bestowed upon it by master to levels so low that even if it had been found it would seem to be naught but an ordinary raven.

They tabby continued to observe him in annoyance, its pose one of exasperation, or as much of one a cat could take, which surprisingly, was very much so. Meanwhile The aged wizard found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be an elongated and ornate silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. Instead of a spark and a flame as was to be expected the nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again - the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him as they reflected the little ambient moonlight that pierced the clouds. If anyone looked out of their window now, even the beady-eyed Vernon Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the street through the almost pith black blanket that had fallen over Private Drive. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street towards number four at a clipped pace, where he then stood by the corner of the wall where the cat glanced up at him before letting out a mewl. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it casually.

For a second the raven was put out, even at this distance its hearing was good enough that it should have been able to overhear the aged wizard's words, it seemed however that even in his casual demeanor the old man was paranoid enough to have set up some type of ward or spell to prevent any eavesdropping. This gave even more credence that something of great importance was going on here, such secrecy, scouting, and paranoia by a man such as Dumbledore in such a regular and out of the way location might be connected to the phenomena that its master had been investigating.

The raven continued to observe the meeting; watching as the Cat animagus morphed back into human form in near a blink of an eye, revealing her to be Minerva McGonagall. Considered the right hand man- or witch in this case, of Albus Dumbledore she was powerful by wand waver standards. A mistress of transfiguration, Head of the famed Gryffindor house of Hogwarts and headmistress as well. She was wearing a black overcoat cloak over an almost gown like cloak decorated tastefully in emerald green with ruby red forming a v down the center. Her black but greying hair was drawn into a tight bun and was partially visible under a crocked witched hat with a wide brim and a single feather on the side, she looked distinctly ruffled. She began to converse with the aged wizard, their words hidden to the raven as it hopped a little closer, trying to read the movement of their lips.

It seemed she was upset; meanwhile the aged wizard looked distinctly amused. McGonagall was gesturing with her hands; she jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window.

"…can't blame them… precious little… for eleven years…" was caught from Dumbledore, the raven pondered to itself, but waited to see what else he could pick up as its focus narrow on their mouths and eyes.

"…no reason to lose our heads… he really is dead…" came from McGonagall. He really is dead, eleven years, and the two most prominent and distinct members and leaders of the so called "light" movement of wand wavers in the UK meeting to talk about it, well the discussion could really only be about one thing. The self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort and the rampart rumors of his demise by an infant wizard. The ravens hunch was confirmed a moment latter by both Dumbledore and McGonagall.

"…mort had powers I will…you're too… noble…" The raven hopped onto a closer branch, stilling its movement as the branch shook for a second before stopping. It tilted its head and continued to watch.

"…why he's disappeared... rumor has it that… Godric's Hollow…Lily and James are really…perished…" Both Dumbledore and McGonagall bowed their heads at this point and stood silent for a moment, the somber turn of their conversation was palpable in their expressions; the wizard looked up at the witch in the eyes as she seemed to gasp. Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. There was a lull in the conversation before they started again, but the raven was becoming impatient. Whatever they were discussing here of all places made no sense, from what it had picked up so far there was no real reason to come so far out of place to discuss information that would most likely become public knowledge by years end. There had to be another reason, some connection to the residence the elderly witch was so closely observing. Clues were lining up but it still needed the final piece of the puzzle to piece them all together.

It returned its attention back to the couple as they began speaking anew. "Young Potter… Harry… couldn't kill… Voldemort's power somehow… after all he's… couldn't kill a little…" The raven turned away and glanced down the street as it sensed something approach, something large was displacing both air and magic as it came within range of the raven's sense. It was still a few minutes away, too far away to discern whatever it was but it was coming in at a steady clip. Dividing its attention it continued to watch both Dumbledore and McGonagall converse as the abject made its approach. He watched as Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and lifting her spectacles to dab at her eyes. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took an ornate golden Alethiometer pocket watch from his cloak and flipped the lid over. Even from the tree the raven could see that it was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late….. come to bring young… only family he has left now."

This seemed to greatly upset the witch as she visibly recoiled in disbelief. She ranted for a few seconds and took a pause, it seemed that Dumbledore was about to reply but he was cut off by the enraged witch. "… not even the worst of it… hate magic… anything strange as if it were a disease... or worse… abuse?!" McGonagall exclaimed in what was sure to become a tirade if Dulbedore didn't put a stop to it soon. "…best place for him" the old man said while reassuringly placing a hand on her shoulder. He winked at her in an attempt to lighten the mood as he peered over his half-moon spectacles with a twinkle in his eye "… will be able to explain everything… older… a letter." This did not seem to have the intended effect however as the woman just seemed more put off.

The flying object drew nearer, and the old wizard must have finally sensed is as he finally dropped the charm hiding the sound of their conversation. If the raven could have rolled its eyes in exasperation it would have surely done so, Dumbledore was well none for both his theatrics, as well as his habit of annoying anyone trying to get him to divulge any information he did not want to. It seemed in this case the conversation was of no real importance, just a precaution on the wizard's part. At least it would be able to get the rest of the conversation without having to concentrate on lip reading.

McGonagall was currently still speaking to the headmaster; "I warn this will end badly Albus, if you don't control the situation closely. Don't complain if it comes to bite you in the arse."

"You have nothing to worry about, I assure you I will be watching closely, nothing bad will happen to little Harry. In any case, the letter will warn them of such." Dumbledore responded.

Her annoyance had, finally, by this point almost disappeared at his reassurance before she processed the last part of his statement. "A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all… this… in a letter?" she emphasized her statement by waving her hand, casting sparks with her wand, and pulling at her cloak. "These people will never understand him! He'll be famous - a legend - I wouldn't be surprised if today was remembered as the day Harry Potter defeated Voldemort - there will be books written about him, everyone will know his face and treat him based on this notion of what he is and not who he is - every child in our world will know his name, people will put him on some high pedestal of their expectations, and turn on him the second he doesn't meet them Albus!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes - yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing him." He responded in a lighter mood than from the previous discussion.

"You think it, wise… to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?" she hissed at him in renewed exasperation, by God Albus would be the death of her with his carefree attitude on important decisions.

I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," stated Professor McGonagall reluctantly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to - what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky - and a huge black and chrome plated motorcycle fell out of the air as well as a flying brick would be expected to and landed on the road in front of them. The raven was just as in nor more surprised, it supposed some form of sound dampening charm had been placed over the entire block to prevent the muggle from waking up in the middle of the night, but really now, what was the point of acting so secretive if they were going to pull a stunt like that. Once more the raven wondered why the wand wavers seemed to have no common sense. It also answered the question of what the approaching object had been at the very least.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing compared to the man sitting astride it. He stood at least 350 cm tall and was at least five times as wide as a normal man. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild - long tangles of bushy black hair and beard that was braided with a few random beads the size of marbles that hid most of his face, he had hands that could fit over trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were larger than manhole covers. He wore a tarp sized heavy moleskin overcoat that reached to his ankles and a pair of leather aviator goggles with lenses near the diameter of ostrich eggs over his eyes.

He came to a halting screech in front of them before shutting of the engine and lifting off the motorbike, is suspension groaning in distress before standing to his full height. He appeared by all sense to be some sort of giant wild man-the raven deduced him to either be a half breed or to have been on the wrong end of enlargement magic, However the small cooing bundle in the thick wool blanket he held in his vast and muscular arms with a gentle grip and a smile on his face revealed his true gentle nature.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last, and… where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant. "Sirius Black lent it to me at the house before he apparated out, he wanted to take Harry with him but I told him that I was under strict orders to take him to you. He asked me to take care of Harry until he returned and to not under any circumstance take him anywhere but Hogwarts. He finally agreed after I said he'd be safe with you, and then he left saying he had something to take care of. Madam Pomfrey was checking out the little tyke after you left the school when I got your patronus message sir and came with little Harry as fast as I could. I've got him here, sir."

"No problems, were there?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, sir - house was almost destroyed, but I got him out of Godric's Hollow all right before the Muggles and Aurors started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

The wizened mage nodded and then in less than a second Dumbledore had stepped back, hand raised out of his cloak and his wand glowing as he thought- 'Obliviate.' The look of surprise was erased in Professor McGonagall and Hagrid's eyes as they dilated for an instant before returning back to normal, the last ten seconds of conversation was erased from their minds, and any knowledge of meeting Sirius Black that night or Harry ever having anywhere other than directly transported here from Godric's Hollow was erased from the minds of both the Giant and the witch next to him.

"What? Um…" Hagrid asked confused.

"No problems, were there?" Dumbledore repeated as if nothing had happened.

"Oh No, sorry sir, must ave lost my train oh' thought. No, sir - house was almost destroyed, but I got him out of Godric's Hollow all right before the Muggles and Aurors started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol." Hagrid once more replied, as he and McGonagall ignored the slight Déjà vu they felt as he presented the young Potter heir to both professors.

The raven watched in surprise, obviously something very serious was going on, the puzzle was coming together; the dark lord Voldemort had been destroyed by the potter child- Harry, on All Hallows Eve- Samhain a day the boundary between the physical and spiritual plane was quite thin, his parents had perished in Godric's Hollow, the same location where the disturbance that had had his mistress sent out him and his brethren to search the U.K. for clues had occurred. The child had been taken from his godfather rather forcibly and then to Hogwarts for a period of time before being moved by the giant here under Dumbledore's orders. He was going to be left in the care of possible future abusive and magic hating muggles, and Dumbledore did not want anyone to know that harry had been taken to Hogwarts at all or that he might know anything about Serious Black- going so far as to erase and alter the memories of his right hand follower and another person he was closely associated with. Suspicious did not even begin to cover what this situation was unfolding into. His mistress would be quite happy to learn of these events.

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of messy jet-black hair the reminded them all to much of the now deceased James Potter on his forehead they could see a curiously shaped and still raw looking cut. It was in center of his forehead, and oddly enough appeared to be a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll most likely have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" she asked while looking disapprovingly at what she considered an unsightly blemish.

"Even if I could, I wouldn't, scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground… Well - give him here, Hagrid - we'd better get this over with." Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.

"Could I - could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"Oh don't worry my dear, I've had a notice me not and silencing charm up since the moment I arrived." Replied Dumbledore in order to calm his hot tempered colleague. "A parade of wizards could have crossed this street an only we would have noticed."

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it - Lily an' James dead - an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles -"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, it's not the end of the world, you'll see him again in ten years," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low flower bed wall and walked across the lawn to the front door. He conjured a wicker basket, laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations." "Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' this bike back to Headquarters. G'night, Professor McGonagall - Professor Dumbledore, sir." Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Minerva," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply. Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets in the basket on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry, one day we will all fulfill our destiny," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a half step turn and a swish of his cloak he was gone. An instant later the sounds of late night traffic and animals returned to Private Drive, as if no strange occurrences had taken place at all.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay still and tidy under the clouded inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing or horrible things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was more than just special, but rather something else entirely, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley, that for his foreseeable future he would be treated like a slave by the family that was supposed to care for him, that the promises of an old man would go ignored as he suffered... He couldn't know that at this very moment, people completely ignorant to the pain and suffering that lay in his future were meeting in secret all over the country and they were holding up their glasses in blissful ignorance of the events to come while saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter - the boy who lived!"

Unseen and undetected in the large oak tree sitting on the neighbor's yard across from number four the raven sat perched on one of the upmost branches. Now that it was alone on the street it released the hold on its power and fully opened the connection with his mistress once more. Through its red eyes a being of great power watched the events unfolding below in the raven's recent memory. As the large giant like man left its range of perception on the aggravatingly loud metal contraption that caused the raven to puff up its feathers and the other two figures had been gone from Private Drive for a few minutes, the raven finally took flight off into the overcast night as across both land and sea its master watched and waited. All across the U.K its brethren followed coming together over the coast of Dover the flock of raven merged into an eerily silent black cloud before drifting like sentient black fog, condensing into a shadow that flowed over the English Channel and went home to its mistress.

Concealed in dark woods in a valley between the peaks of two jagged mountains somewhere in Romania was a fortress like castle. Its location hidden from man for centuries; save for the legends born from its previous and now deceased tenant, who's undead heart she had claimed in her rise to power. Deep within its bowls on a throne of chiseled black stone she sat, a fine crystal chalice filled with the best wine life had to offer in hand. Her body was cloaked in shadows, her slitted eyes glowing with an eerie bloody hunger as a she smiled, her fang filled maw hidden behind a set of delicate and full rosy lips enunciating her sinister leer.

The Woman famed even in the dark histories of muggle lore licked a drop of crimson liquid from her lips as she saw through the eyes of her avian thrall. "Lets us see how events unfold, shall we- Hadrian Potter? Let us see if this little Esper survives the trials ahead, let us see if he can change the world…"

Outside the dark chamber malevolent laughter echoed into the night.

* * *

Notes: Finally had some free time to revise and finish this chapter, getting towards the end of school and working out my work schedule for part time has been a drag. Hopefully I can finish the next chapter soon, but don't expect regular updates. Story will start diverging from canon soon with new twist and turns. Some event may possibly be influenced by reader vote in future as well- though not sure what yet.

Any guesses on who this "Mistress" is, should be to hard I practically spelled it out, first correct guess get top mention next time I post.


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